


roll around this roundabout

by lacecat



Series: spy verse [1]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, F/M, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Modern Era, Multi, Mutual Pining, Non-Graphic Violence, POV Alternating, Polyamory, Slow Burn, Undercover as Married, i have an ot5 type, really just flint/silver/thomas/miranda/madi ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-09 14:59:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 51,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11671431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacecat/pseuds/lacecat
Summary: Something small slides in the folder in his hand, and he opens it mid-walk to see a small envelope. With grim resignation, he looks in the envelope to see a gold ring nestled inside.Flint pinches the bridge of his nose. He should have gotten Eleanor to clarify as to the nature of this assignment before storming away.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this.................... had to be done.
> 
> shoutout to hailey who as always is the best kind of enabler (and is the best!!) when it comes to writing more AUs with these idiots

The elevator stops suddenly at the third floor, and Flint has enough time to muster up a glower, somehow knowing exactly who will be on the other side of the metal doors before they can slide open. 

 

“Tenth floor if you don’t mind- _oh_ ,” the bane of his existence says, and Flint grits his teeth. “Hello again.”

 

“Silver,” Flint says curtly, and the man glides into the compartment until he’s standing far too close to him, even though there’s enough space not to be nearly pressed shoulder to shoulder. 

 

“Captain,” Silver says, one corner of his mouth lifting. He looks at Flint up and down, and Flint resists the urge to fidget in his suit. “I see you’re heading to the tenth floor as well.”

 

“I was a captain  _once_ undercove _r,”_ Flint says despite any vows he’s made in the past not to engage John Silver, to not fall to the provocation. “ _Once_.” 

 

“You did a fine job of it,” Silver continues, even having the audacity to wink at him as the doors close once more. Flint resists the urge to slam him into the mirrored side of the elevator just so that he never has to see that wink ever again. “Heading up to give your debrief to Hennessey? I must say, it’s rather strange for me to see you not in your dress blues.”

 

Flint glances at him through narrowed eyes. Silver’s got a new scar that disappears underneath the collar of his shirt, one that will probably be too faint to notice in a few months. It’s been some time since he’s last seen him, but as usual, within five seconds of their interactions, Flint’s already considering popping the roof of the lift and shimmying up the cables instead. 

 

Instead, he watches the numbers tick by far too slowly. 

 

“Give the admiral my regards,” Silver says, just as the doors open onto the tenth floor. “I’ll see you in another ten months, then-“ 

 

Flint pushes in front of him, cutting him off despite the indignant noise under Silver’s breath as he does so, and he starts towards his handler’s office. 

 

He takes five steps before he can hear the footsteps behind him, and he stops to turn around. “Agent Silver, I believe you overestimate my tolerance-“ 

 

“Oh,” Silver says, cutting him off. “You’re meeting with Eleanor too, then.”

 

Flint frowns. “You’re going to see her now?” 

 

“Don’t worry, Very Special Agent Flint,” Silver says. “I’ll be in and out, and then you can shout at her as much as you like about having your own private elevator."

 

Flint glares at him, enough so that Silver pauses mid-step for a split moment, and then he continues to Eleanor Guthrie’s office. 

 

His handler rubs her forehead at the sight of him and Silver in the doorway. “Agents, please,” she says, motioning to the two chairs in front of her, rising from her seat. “Thank you for gracing me with your presence.” The sarcasm isn’t lost on either one of them, as Flint looks at Silver, who wiggles his eyebrows. Flint turns back with a frown. 

 

They both take a seat in front of the impressively large desk, as Eleanor sits down again. 

 

“You’re both here because I need you to work together on your next operation,” Eleanor says, blessedly cutting right to the chase. “You’ll be doing long-term reconnaissance in London.” She draws two rather thick files up from underneath her desk. “Here are the operation details.” 

 

Silver makes an incredulous sound, putting out his hand as if to refuse the file. “Hold on- we’re working together, undercover? What could you possibly-“ 

 

“Why do I need to be working with him?” Flint demands, cutting him off. Silver sends a dark glance in his direction that he can see out of the corner of his eye. “Surely there are other agents-“

 

“Like Billy or Eme or any of them would want to work with you-“

 

“-not to mention, I’m his superior-“

 

“-oh, fuck off, they gave you an extra title because of your age-“

 

“-you weren’t even _born_ when I enlisted in the Navy-“

 

“Oh, so you’re older than I thought- _Ms. Guthrie,_ please reason with this _madman_ -"

 

“Enough!” Eleanor snaps, and while Silver and Flint both stop talking, Silver tilts his watch so that the light coming in from the window hits the side of Flint’s face just right, so that Flint has to squint for a moment before angrily moving his chair forward. 

 

 “Stop squabbling like children,” Eleanor says sternly. "This detail requires both of your skill sets. You two will work together on this, and you’re going to cease whatever childish game this is, and you will do so now.”

 

“Childish,” Silver says flatly. “He once shot me because I apparently got in the way of his mission. A mission in which he was there to strictly collect intelligence, not _take shots with a hastily constructed sniper rifle_ -” 

 

“I barely grazed you, if I wanted to shoot you I would have done so-“

 

“Now I can’t go back to Ontario thanks to you-“ 

 

“Agents,” Eleanor barks. “You both have done regrettable actions in the past. But you’re going to put aside your past hostility, and you’re going to do it now. Or so help me, I’ll assign you both to training the new agents until you’re both wishing that I just shot you instead.”

 

“Jesus,” Silver says after a moment and he scowls at Flint when Flint lifts an eyebrow in his direction. “Fine. But tell me it’s going to be quick.” 

 

“What’s the mark?” Flint asks, turning back to Eleanor. Silver settles back from where he had half-risen out of his seat.

 

Eleanor opens the folder up. “The branch is conducting an investigation into Benjamin Hornigold, whose company is suspected for being an accomplice to a major smuggling ring in the city. Your mark is his partner, Woodes Rogers, and you are to report back on any information you gather via standard domestic intelligence procedure.” She passes the papers to Flint, who begins to scans the top sheet. “Your covers are in there as well. It’s fairly straightforward, but given Rogers’s security, it requires more senior operatives."

 

“Hold on just one moment,” Silver says, “Wasn’t your ex-husband oneWoodes Rogers?“

 

“Like I said,” Eleanor says grimly, “Regrets.” She closes the folder. “Rogers is the weak link to shut the company down. He has a decent security system in place and commutes every day to the headquarters in Canary Wharf. You’re to monitor him at his home in Hampstead for the foreseeable future until we have enough to make a case. You’re to leave tomorrow morning.” 

 

“Ma’am,” Flint says, after a long pause, closing the folder in his hands. He rises again, and Eleanor gives him a crisp nod as a dismissal. 

 

“Now wait a moment-“ Silver says hotly, but Flint’s already leaving Eleanor’s office before he can hear whatever Silver has to say to this, walking briskly down the long hallway. 

 

Something small slides in the folder in his hand, and he opens it mid-walk to see a small envelope. Flint picks it up, feels a lump. With grim, horrible resignation, he looks inside the envelope to see a gold ring nestled inside it. 

 

Flint pinches the bridge of his nose. He knew he should have clarified from Eleanor as to the nature of this assignment before storming away. 

 

•••

 

He had first met Silver in Charleston. 

 

It had been a remarkably humid summer, the kind where even when the sun went down, the heat stayed like a thick cloak that hung over the city, like sand that you could never quite just shake all away. 

 

Flint had met Probationary Agent John Silver during their rendezvous with their American counterparts that first night. It had been an easy task, one that Silver ran and Flint was there mainly to observe the new agent, on the bequest of his handler then. Silver had given him a slow grin, the pink and green neon lights of the seedy bar around them making his teeth glow brightly even in the dark. Flint couldn’t look away from him, like an accident waiting to happen. 

 

After the other agents had left, and it was just them, just two more faces in the crowd, Silver had ordered them beers, shots, and then a bottle of rum to share as they crowded together in a sticky booth in the back of the bar. The hours had slipped away as they drank and talked about the mission and Flint saw the way that Silver’s mouth looked wrapped around the glass neck of the bottle, wondered if he tasted as smoky as the liquor.

 

Silver had pressed his thigh right up against Flint’s, and Flint had let him. As Silver threw his head back in a throaty laugh, barely audible over the thrum of the staticky speakers above their heads, Flint had found that he quite liked Charleston.

 

Then, of course, it had gone to hell. Their counterparts had their covers blown later that evening, and as they had rushed back to the safe house, they learned that both agents had been killed. Their handlers were in outrage, blaming one of them - and there had been a gigantic mess to clean up in the ensuing days, a mess of a diplomatic situation, as they traced the leak for weeks. 

 

Then, there had been a point when Flint thought that the leak was Silver. He had drawn a gun on him, sure, but wasn’t that the procedure?

 

Silver hadn’t thought so. Silver nearly killed him in defense, nearly solidifying his guilt in the process, but then he had made Flint listen, told Flint that there was no way that he could have been the leak.

 

Flint had listened, and when he had realized his error, but he had tried to apologize. But before he could, Silver had been on a plane back to London, and Flint had taken care of the problem back in Charleston. 

 

Flint is an old-school, get in-get out sort of agent. He knows that you can’t trust people. He’s never been a proponent of profiling or whatever abstract ways of sourcing intelligence- there are just too many variables, and they’re rendered pointless when you could threaten and set up traps and use intelligence from standard procedure. Silver, on the other hand, is one of those young, reckless agents who uses those new methods. Even as his success rate skyrocketed in the past few years, Flint refuses to work with him on principle. His methods were off the books, likely to get him killed as well as anyone else, and he told Silver as much when Silver approached him about it. 

 

The first time they met after Charleston, a few months later, they were arguing about the best way to advise a foreign agent on the extraction of a high-value target. They had fought, loudly and viciously, in the meeting, and then in the hallway of the agency. It had ended up with Silver pushing Flint into a wall so hard the plaster dented where his back hit it. On his end, though, Flint had left him with a black eye and a bloodied lip that had lasted for nearly two weeks. 

 

Eleanor, newly promoted in the agency, had suspended them both from the field for that particular mishap. Silver had shown up to Flint’s makeshift office and he had flirted incorrigibly, and then he had ducked, laughing, when Flint threw a stapler at his head. 

 

They were kept on separate missions mostly after that, but due to recent reductions in the force, they had been forced to work on the same missions a handful of times in the following years. Never just the two of them, and never for undercover work - and as Flint reflects on it now, that might have been a purposeful choice by someone with a higher pay grade than him, someone very intelligent. 

 

Someone who evidently had died, because the order Eleanor had gotten to put them both on this mission came from someone who apparently didn’t know about the time they were in Manchester, and Flint had told Silver in vivid detail how he was going to murder him, through an earpiece, as Silver dug a bullet out of his thigh from a botched interrogation that had ended up with the mark escaping. 

 

Or the time that Silver had abandoned him in a warehouse in Wales with no backup, a few months later, over a slight of the man’s haircut - and Flint hadn’t even said it to his face, Silver had heard it over a wiretap from the agent working with Flint on that operation earlier that day. 

 

Maybe Silver will convince Eleanor that they truly can’t work together, especially not as a married couple. Either way, Flint has a bag to pack now, and so he drives back to his flat in utter silence, silently fuming at the way that only John Silver seems to get under his skin.

 

•••

 

“Three months,” Thomas says, as Flint folds another shirt into his bag. There are strict specifications on what they can and cannot bring into the field - but Flint has already added a tiny photo frame to the bottom of the bag, tucked inside one trainer. “Six months?” 

 

Flint glances up at him. Thomas sighs. “A whole year?” 

 

“If it takes a year to complete this mission, then it’s time for me to retire,” Flint tells him, making sure the safety of his backup revolver is on before putting it in the zippered compartment. “My guess that it’ll be a few weeks at most.” He’s using his own conservative estimate, though, and from the way that Thomas gives another sigh, his husband knows it as well. 

 

“I don’t suppose you can tell me it’ll be without risk,” Thomas says, staring up at the ceiling. He’d been grading papers when Flint had come home but had put them aside quietly when he had seen the look on Flint’s face. 

 

Flint shuts the bag. “I’m sorry,” he says, and Thomas smiles at him. It’s a sad smile, but then he climbs out from underneath the comforter to crawl over to him. 

 

“You leave tomorrow, then?” Thomas asks, moving forward on the bed until he can swing his legs to dangle off the end. “You usually get more notice.”

 

Flint groans. “It’s probably because they don’t want me to murder the other agent in this situation if they left the prep time for too long.” He moves when Thomas beckons to him, coming to stand between his legs. Thomas’s hands move to his hips.

 

“Oh?” Thomas asks. “Who is it?”

 

“John Silver,” Flint says, and there’s a beat of silence before Thomas is snorting. 

 

“ _John Silver_? As in, the man you routinely tell me you’d love nothing more than to put him into a body bag?”

 

“The one and only.” 

 

“And you’re to be undercover with him for at least several weeks? Doing what?” 

 

“We’re-“ and Flint pauses. “We’re to be a married couple.”

 

There’s another beat of silence, and then Thomas is shaking slightly. It takes Flint a moment to realize that his husband is laughing, trying desperately to keep it in, but then a wheeze slips out as he leans forward to press his forehead against Flint’s chest.

 

“Sorry _-_ you’re going to be married to John Silver?” 

 

“Fake married.” 

 

“Fake-married to John Silver, who might be the first person to make you go red in the fact just by talking about him-"

 

“ _Thomas!'_

 

“Sorry,” Thomas says, leaning back again and letting go of him for a moment to wipe his eyes. “You know, I’m actually rather glad it’s him. If there was another man in the world that I would have you be fake-married to, it would be him, most likely.” 

 

Flint blinks. Then blinks again. “What?” 

 

“I always thought it was something more than rivalry,” Thomas muses, as Flint blinks yet again in dawning horror. “You made it sound like there was a tension there. Of course, I would appreciate meeting the man if it goes in that direction - after the mission, of course-“

 

“Thomas, _no,”_ Flint says hurriedly, as Thomas reaches back to continues to rub circles on his hips through the material of his shirt. “There’s nothing going on between us. Nothing that will ever happen between us. He’s a conceited, arrogant-”

 

“Miranda and I have hypothesized otherwise,” his husband says, gently interrupting him, and when Flint makes a pained groan, he pats him on his hip. “I won’t push. Can I tell you how much I’m going to miss you instead?"

 

“Oh, please do,” Flint says, sounding grumpy even to his own ears, but then Thomas is giving him another fond look. 

 

“I’m going to have to make a lifesize cutout of you I can talk to at night.” Thomas tugs on his shirt. “I’ll put one of your sweaters on it."

 

“That would be disturbing.” 

 

“But so worth it.” Thomas pulls harder on his hips then, Flint lets him move him off balance until he’s falling on top of him on the bed, and then they’re both laughing as Thomas tilts his head up to capture Flint’s mouth in a long kiss. 

 

•••

 

“So you think that this mission has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that the mark is Eleanor Guthrie’s ex-husband?” Silver asks, propping his feet on the dashboard. It’s the first thing he’s said to Flint, and he tugs off the hood of his sweatshirt as he does so. 

 

There’s barely any traffic this early in the morning, but still, Flint concentrates on the road, more to avoid ejecting Silver from the passenger seat.  He’d refused to let Silver drive once he saw the gigantic coffee the man had been downing when he had met him this morning, the remains of which Silver is slurping down right now. “Take your feet off the dashboard.” 

 

Silver doesn’t listen to him. “Maybe she’ll have us do a hit on him.” 

 

“Silver. Get your feet off the fucking dashboard.” He wishes he were home right now, just waking up to Thomas’s pillow-creased face next to him. 

 

Silver complies, though Flint can practically hear his eyes roll. “So you think she’s unbiased?"

 

Flint merges lanes. “I think she means it when she says that her intelligence reveals that he’s the weak link in Hornigold’s company.”

 

“That’s not answering the question, is it,” Silver says, his leg lolling to one side. Flint glances over him, and there’s an infuriating grin stretching on Silver’s face. “You actually trust her?"

 

“Eleanor is capable, and the orders she gives are ones that I trust are the best for the agency’s interests,” Flint says with conviction, but Silver somehow manages to prod him in the shoulder with his foot just then. “Hey!"

 

“You don’t trust her then?”

 

“She was a spy, you are a spy, I'm a spy. Of course I don’t trust her,” Flint snaps. “But she’s a good woman and she’s proficient at her job. To suggest otherwise would be ludicrous.”

 

“You have a strange definition of good.” Silver turns to look out of the window, then. “So, what did you do for your last night as a free man?” 

 

Flint grits his teeth. “Nothing.” 

 

“Nothing? You didn’t - oh, I don’t know, go to a strip club? Play some cards at a pub with the boys? Whatever it is you old men do.” Silver attempts to prod him in the shoulder with his foot again - and really, his hips are unfairly flexible - until Flint catches his ankle and yanks it away. “Ow! You’re right, you probably went to a library until it closed, spent your evening dusting off the VCR players-“ 

 

“For your information,” Flint mutters, “I spent it with my husband before I had to wake up at this horribly early hour.”

 

Silver’s quiet for half a moment. Flint thinks he might have surprised him. “Your husband? You have a husband?” 

 

“Don’t talk like that,” Flint says, seeing the sign for their exit. “You’re my husband now. We need to be careful from the very start about slip-ups.” 

 

“Yeah, but-“

 

“Do you have a problem with that?”

 

“I have been undercover before - come on, surely you must have heard about that time in Belfast-“ 

 

“I meant about my having a husband.” 

 

“What- _no,_ I’m literally about to be your husband, I have no problem with that!” Silver actually sits up in his seat then. “That’s entirely- that’s your business, but whatever you want to share with me, thank you-"

 

“Oh, good, I was truly worried I would offend your sensibilities,” Flint says bitingly, and he peers at the car’s built-in GPS. “Now where the fuck is this house?"

 

•••

 

The house, it turns out, is a walk-up flat just off one of the bustling roads. Flint gets the bags - between them, they only have two personal bags, the rest of their clothes and furniture provided by the agency and hopefully already delivered - and so it’s a quick trip to move everything out of the car. 

 

Silver, in the meantime, takes it upon himself to introduce them to the neighbors. Each time he says 'Mr. and Mr. Barlow’, Flint feels something twist in his stomach, and so he goes up to the flat under the excuse of making sure all their belongings ended up there. 

 

One such couple insisted on meeting Flint, though, waiting for him to come back down, and so Flint surrenders eventually when Silver starts calling for him. He’s starting to hate the suburbs. 

 

“James looks stern, but that’s just from years of teaching Britain’s troubled youth,” Silver tells the older woman- Mrs. Brown, as Flint had learned just then, who’s looking up at Silver with fluttering eyelashes. They’re going to have to watch out for her. “He’s the most romantic man I’ve ever met.”

 

“James, John here said that you were a Navy man?” Mrs. Brown asks, looking at him.

 

“Yes ma’am,” Flint says. “Retired now.”

 

“Well, you’ll just have to come meet the neighbors at our monthly potluck,” Mr. Brown says. 

 

“It’s next Saturday at 6 pm at our flat,” Mrs. Brown says in turn. “Can you bring something?” 

 

“I’ll bring some cider and James will bring his handsome face,” Silver says, and Flint watches as though he’s seeing a horror movie as all three adults give the same, tinkling laugh. 

 

“Oh, bless you,” Mr. Brown says, honest-to-God clasping Silver’s shoulder. “You’ve brought a breath of fresh air to this block already.”

 

“Well, what can I say,” Silver says, turning to look at Flint with what can best be described as a moon-eyed expression that he must think newlyweds have. “He brought a whirlwind of fresh air into my life.” 

 

“What the fuck was that,” Flint says later, as they’re standing in their mostly-empty apartment. “ _Whirlwind of fresh air_?”

 

“Hey, I can be romantic,” Silver says, easily slipping into that smirk now that they’re alone again. He pushes by Flint to get to one of the neat cardboard boxes in the corner. “Which do you think the plates are in?” 

 

“How should I know,” Flint snaps, rubbing his forehead. “Why’d you tell them I was in the Navy? And a _school teacher?_ ” 

 

“You _were_ in the Navy.” Silver pauses as he opens the box with a knife he whipped out from somewhere. "Ah, these are the curtains.”

 

“That’s not part of the cover.” 

 

“Oh, I never read those,” Silver says, seemingly oblivious to Flint’s growing anger. “Always made by some boxed-away agent who’s never seen the field.The best lies are a blend of truth and fiction, after all.” He stops. “What- do you actually memorize what they give you? Oh, love."

 

“Don’t call me that,” Flint snarls, and has to remind himself that they can’t blow this operation in under two hours. He grabs the box from Silver’s arms instead.

 

He puts up the curtains instead Silver rummages through the boxes. It seems the least risky option, since the next box is clearly labeled “tools and kitchenware”. He’ll have a long time to vividly fantasize about smashing a standing mixer on Silver’s head, after all. 

 

“There we are,” Silver says from beside him, neatly ripping open one of the boxes.  He inspects a glass that he removes from the cardboard. “You know, this might be one of the nicest places I’ve ever lived.” 

 

Flint glances around the space. It’s well-maintained, even with the layer of dust on everything, but it’s a far cry from the flat he shares with Thomas - home. “Really?” 

 

“Not all of us are so posh,” Silver retorts, spinning the handle of the knife in his fingers. “Anyways, we should make dinner.”

 

“There isn’t any food,” Flint says, squinting at the unplugged fridge and empty shelves. 

 

“Well, then you _should go to the store_ ,” Silver says, with a significant look to the door. “If this is going to work, we’re going to have to eat eventually.”

 

 

•••

 

Silver spins the knife in his fingers, nearly thoughtfully, as Flint stomps down the stairs. At this rate, the man will have a stroke by the end of the week, Silver thinks to himself with a snort, and he tosses the knife so that it lands, embedded in the cutting board. 

 

Flint had dropped their bags in the bedroom, and Silver rummages through his own now to find the small cell phone he’d tucked away. He toes off his trainers as he dials the number, collapsing on the bare mattress as he waits for the phone to ring. 

 

The phone connects. “It’s been barely three hours, and I think we’re going to kill each other,” Silver says.

 

There’s a pause. “John, this is a non-secure line. You do know I’m deep undercover right now.”

 

“And you’re no doubt doing the country proud,” he says, shifting the phone as he stares up at the ceiling. “Bad time?”

 

Madi sighs. “Not as bad as this morning- er, last night for you,” she says. “Sorry. Time zones.” 

 

“Ugh,” Silver says. “I’m nearly reminiscing on the time I was trapped in Belfast for three weeks.”

 

“Is it that bad?” Madi says, her voice sympathetic even through the poor connection. 

 

“Well, let’s just say that he’s had not one, but two murderous glints in his eyes since we got out of the car.”

 

“What did you say to him?” 

 

“Why do you assume-“ Silver stops when he can hear Madi pointedly clearing her throat. “Right. God, I miss you.” 

 

“I miss you too. But work it out, and stop calling me during op- ah, _shit-_ ” Madi says, and then the phone line goes dead, but not before Silver hears muffled gunfire in the background. 

 

Silver tosses the phone back on top of his bag, rolling onto his side. He smiles, though. It’s always good to hear from her. 

 

From this angle, he can see Flint’s bag, lined up against the box spring on the other side of the bed. Silver’s fingers itch- he shouldn’t, should he - and he swings his legs over the side of the bed. 

 

 

•••

 

 

“Hello?” Flint’s voice filters in from the living room. 

 

“Don’t worry, I haven’t run off yet,” Silver says. He studies the picture in his hand. “Is this your husband?” 

 

“What the fuck are you doing,” Flint snarls, suddenly in the doorway, and looking far angrier than he would have guessed. Silver springs up on reflex, carefully putting the photo onto the bed before turning to face him entirely. “Did you go through my belongings?” 

 

“Well, yes,” Silver starts, but the next thing he knows, Flint’s forearm is pressed against his throat, pushing him into the wall. He chokes, before gripping at Flint’s wrist hard enough to pry it away a little. “Careful, dear, the bruises are bound to raise questions.” 

 

“You snake,” Flint says angrily, pushing him once more against the wall with a dull thud. “How dare you-“

 

Silver’s fingers get under Flints’ wrist bone, enough so that he can twist his arm. In between breaths, Silver pushes Flint off of him, kicking out his feet until Flint’s on the ground with a bang, Silver above him, his arm pinned above his head. 

 

“Now that’s not a nice way to treat your husband,” Silver says, seeing the way Flint’s eyes narrow from their close proximity. “Although I imagine the flat downstairs thinks we're doing a right job of christening our new space.” 

 

 In another quick motion, Flint’s leg comes up to hook around the back of his thighs, until Silver’s the one pressed to the ground now with another thud. 

 

“No one’s in the flat downstairs,” Flint growls, “And you should stop trying to pry into my life, Mr. Silver.” 

 

“It’s Mr. Barlow, now,” Silver says, and once again he pushes Flint off of him until he’s straddling Flint’s waist, Flint buckling underneath him to no avail. “Or do you need a file to remind you?” 

 

“Get off me,” Flint spits, and when Silver stands up, so does Flint. Silver clenches his fists when the other man moves away, going around him to the door. 

 

“I cannot believe you,” Silver snaps, then, and Flint stops in the doorway. “You have been nothing but antagonistic towards me from the moment this started.” 

 

Flint whirls around. “ _Antagonistic_ \- you have done nothing but provoke me since the start of this operation-“

 

“-you don’t give a damn about my opinion, never mind I’m just as seasoned an operative as you-“ 

 

“-your inability to cooperate, or to stick to the mission guidelines or protocol-“

 

“-and mostly, I think, just because you’re a bullheaded, arrogant arse,” Silver finishes heatedly, as Flint glares right back at him.

 

The air in the room seems to crackle as if one spark could set them both ablaze. Silver takes a deep breath, as Flint’s eyes rove across the wall behind him, refusing to as much as look at him as they fume in silence. 

 

Flint speaks first, breaking the tension. “Eleanor chose us for this because our skill sets will let us get this mission done quickly and efficiently. If we can both agree on that, we can get this mission done.”

 

“I’ll agree if only you tell me what your problem with me is,” Silver tells him, after weighing the look on Flint’s face. 

 

Flint frowns. “What problem?”

 

In response, Silver pushes by him in the doorway, walking to the kitchen. Flint follows him, eyeing him with no small amount of suspicion as Silver looks at the grocery bags Flint had dropped in the kitchen. “Tell me you bought something to drink.”

 

Flint pulls out a bottle of whiskey in response, and Silver takes it from him. “That’ll do.”

 

“If you think that you getting drunk will help anything-“

 

“No, James,” Silver says. "We’re both going to drink heavily. We’re going to discuss whatever problems we have with each other like professionals, and then, like adults, we’re going to pretend like none of this ever happened.” 

 

•••

 

“Turns out,” Silver says, “She was sleeping with her bodyguard. But, y’know, who wouldn’t. That woman’s terrifying, but, I get it. The appeal. As did she, apparently.” 

 

“That can’t be true,” Flint says. “You’re lying to me.” 

 

“Mm, no,” Silver says, finally. “Not like this.” He pours himself more whiskey, already tasting the sweet burn before he raises the glass to his lips. 

 

It turns out that even very special agents do in fact get drunk off nearly half a bottle of whiskey. Flint toys with the label on the bottle as Silver watches his hands. The overhead light in the kitchen is just a bit too bright, and Silver should get up to turn it off, but he’s rather fixated on the freckles that are sprinkled liberally on the backs of Flint’s hands all the way up to his knuckles. They’re seated on the ground in the kitchen, having made their way there a third of the bottle in. 

 

Silver’s never going to say it out loud, but he thinks that once Flint has a few drinks in him, he rather likes the way that Flint’s face relaxes along his jaw, how the crinkles at the corners of his eyes become more apparent. 

 

“I’m going to be so hungover tomorrow,” Flint says instead, finishing his glass anyway. “Why did I let you do this?” 

 

“Mm, they say to restrict the alcohol when you’re undercover,” Silver says into his glass. “But I say- why not live boldly?”

 

Flint looks up at him, and after a long moment, he snorts. “That’s terrible- _terrible_ advice.”

 

“What’s terrible advice,” Silver tells him, “Is for me to say that we should stay here. Ugh. I can taste this glass.” 

 

“Bed,” Flint says with a groan. “Did we- did we make that?”

 

“Certainly not, darling,” Silver says, and together they stagger upright. “I shouldn’t have let you challenge me to that knife throwing competition earlier. That sofa’s going to need to be trashed.”

 

“That’s because you’ve got terrible aim,” Flint says, pushing both their glasses close to the fridge with his foot. “Next time, I’ll blindfold myself, just so that it’ll be fair.” 

 

“You-“ Silver pokes him in the chest. “You take that back. I’ll have you know, I once put a knife into a man’s throat from twenty feet. _Twenty_.” 

 

“Try thirty,” Flint says, grinning with all of his teeth down at him. “From a car.” 

 

They make it to the bedroom, and Silver stares as Flint flops down onto the bed, making a low groan. He joins him on the other side after a moment, the room spinning slightly less once he puts his head down. They’re both lying on top of the bare mattress, then, waiting for sleep to claim them.

 

“Hey- who’s the woman?” Silver asks, his head pillowed on his discarded sweatshirt. 

 

Flint’s already got his shirt pulled up and over his face. Silver catches himself staring at the long line of his abdomen, the pale skin there. “What woman?” 

 

“In the photograph,” Silver starts, but then sleep is dragging his eyelids down before he can form another question. 

 

•••

 

The next morning, Flint wakes up to a dull, pounding headache. Silver, of course, springs from the bed like he’s about to run a marathon. “I’ll put on some toast,” he says, sounding much too loud, as Flint puts his arm back over his eyes. 

 

He staggers into the shower. With the cold water running down his face, he can nearly forget about his headache- but as Flint tries to recall the previous night, he realizes he can’t remember what they talked about. 

 

Christ. If he said something embarrassing, Silver’s never going to let him forget it. 

 

 After he gets out of the shower and puts on clean clothes, Silver is in the kitchen, already on his phone. There’s a piece of toast between his teeth as he types. 

 

Flint watches him carefully as he chews on a piece, swallows, before setting the toast down on the counter. He doesn’t seem to be gloating, at least, as Silver’s eyes snap up to meet his. 

 

Flint goes over to the fridge, as Silver starts to talk, waving a piece of toast at him. 

 

“You should head into the city, stake out the company headquarters,” Silver says then, then pauses, like he expects Flint to challenge this suggestion.

 

But as he takes out the milk, be it the hangover or their conversation last night, he actually considers it. “All right,” Flint says finally, and he can see Silver’s shoulders relax ever so slightly. “Are you going to do recon on Roger’s property?” 

 

“Most likely,” Silver says distractedly, going back to typing away on his phone. “Pick up a catalogue from the furniture store when you come back?” 

 

“Absolutely not. You’re the one who put the knife through the arm of that couch,” Flint bites back, but Silver just laughs in response, walking over to retrieve the knife that’s still stuck there. 

 

They walk out of the apartment later together, to where the car is parked. Silver waves to the neighbors across the street, as Flint pats down his pockets for the keys, putting his briefcase in the passenger side seat through.

 

Silver gets a look in his eye, then, and he leans forward to press a soft kiss on the corner of Flint’s mouth. “Have a good day at work, darling,” Silver says, his breath on Flint’s mouth, and Flint blames the breeze for the goosebumps that form on his skin. As he gets into the car and drives away, he can see in the rear view window Silver waving him goodbye. 

 

•••

 

The phone rings, and he rolls over, picking it up and swiping at the screen blearily. It’s his day off, who on Earth would be calling-

 

“Professor Thomas Hamilton?” The woman on the other end says. Thomas rubs his face, clears his throat. 

 

“This is he."

 

“My name is Eleanor Guthrie, and I have an opportunity for you.” 

 

•••


	2. Chapter 2

 

Flint spends the day casing out the company headquarters-  taking note of the security system, the private cameras, the flow of people in and out of the building. It’s standard recon work, not particularly thrilling, but he’s learned to appreciate the times that he isn’t being shot at. It’s a cloudy day, but he still keeps on the sunglasses, occasionally moving the car so that no one gets suspicious. 

 

Flint takes another photo of Rogers headed back into the building after some lunch meeting. There is nothing about the man that Flint doesn’t hate, he thinks to himself, as Rogers tosses his coat to the doorman, nearly hitting him in the face with the sleeve, barely glancing at him to do so. 

 

He drives back in the late afternoon. Silver had texted him a few times, but after a cursory glance to make sure they weren’t the ‘our-cover’s-been-blown-get-out-of-town’ sort of message, he had ignored them. 

 

He does pick up some more groceries from the store, as well as the address of a furniture store from the over-friendly cashier. Flint waits patiently in line at the corner shop, basket in hand, and he thinks that this is feeling too normal already. 

 

Finally, Flint pulls up to the driveway, turns off the car, and then he has to do a double take. Silver is mowing the lawn that’s down the street from their flat - their own lawn already having been immaculately trimmed. He’s also bare-chested, his tee shirt bunched around his neck as if an afterthought, and Flint can see the muscles in his torso flex as he rounds the edge of the grass. 

 

Flint catches himself staring at the way the sun glints off the sweat dotting Silver’s muscular shoulders, and he throws the car door open to get out, then. 

 

Silver has already seen him, and after he finishes the last row of the lawn he turns the lawnmower off. “Darling!” Silver calls, abandoning the machine in order to cross the road in long steps, towards him. 

 

“What are you-“ Flint starts, but then suddenly he has an armful of sweaty, hot Silver, whose mouth is insistently pressed against his. Flint makes an incredulous noise as Silver kisses him, dragging his fingers through his hair briefly, as Flint’s hands find their way to Silver’s bare back, grasping helplessly as Silver pushes him lazily against the car door. 

 

Silver breaks the kiss finally, leaning back a little to meet his eye. “Now that’s the goodbye I should have given you this morning,” he says teasingly under his breath, and it’s only because Flint can see one of the neighbors on the porch across the street that he doesn’t shove Silver away from him. 

 

“Hello to you too,” Flint says, dry, and Silver laughs, untangling his fingers from Flint’s hair. 

 

“I was doing the Browns' lawn for them, their machine broke this morning.” Silver reaches up, in a smooth gesture, to tuck a lock of hair behind his ear. “How was work?” 

 

“Productive,” Flint says. “Learned the ins and outs of the office today."

 

“Did you buy dinner?” Silver asks, peering into the car behind him. “The Taylors sent over a casserole, but that can go into our new freezer."

 

“What are you _wearing?_ ” Flint asks finally, because it’s not just the bare chest that’s capturing his attention now. Silver’s clad in hideously patterned shorts, and a pair of neon green sandals that show his toes. He looks absolutely disgusting, Flint thinks, as he can still feel where Silver’s stubble rubbed against his mouth. 

 

Silver lifts his foot up. “I once ran a four-minute mile in these things during a tropical storm. I’ll tell you that story over that casserole.” He grabs the bags out of the backseat, and Flint goes up the stairs with him. 

 

They head up to the flat, and Flint stops in the doorway as Silver goes in. “What-“

 

“Oh, I unpacked some, too,” Silver says, as Flint stares around the room. “Struggled with those curtain rods a fair bit. There are some things that the agency just doesn’t teach you.” 

 

“What the fuck happened in here?” 

 

Silver honest-to-God _pouts_. “I unpacked.” 

 

“It looks like a hurricane came through. Did you- did you use a blanket as a curtain?”

 

“I ripped the first one. Figured they’re both cloth, why not use a perfectly good blanket?” 

 

“ _You cut holes in the blanket_.”

 

“Well it’s not like we’re going to use it after it’s been in the window. What’s it to you, anyways?” 

 

“There’s mud on the floor. It hasn’t even rained here.” 

 

“I tried to clean it! No need to be such an arse- what are you doing?” 

 

“Fixing your mistakes,” Flint says, giving a grunt as he tugs down the curtain. “You should have used a track rod on these, it lets you pull back the entire curtain to get a better vantage point.”

 

“Track rod- well excuse me, if I’m not some kind of stay at home wife _-“_

 

“Husband,” Flint says, putting his finger through one of the blanket holes. “You’re a stay at home husband.” 

 

Silver throws his hands up, giving a look that would’ve killed a lesser man. “You’re lucky there’s not a knife in reach right now,” he says, turning to go into the bedroom. 

 

“You would’ve missed me,” Flint calls after him, unable to resist the final dig, and hears Silver shout a muffled " _Fuck off!"_

 

He puts up the ripped curtain, judging the tear not to be too severe - they’ll just have to get another one eventually. He unpacks the groceries, checks the emergency phone - stashed underneath a floorboard - for any missed calls, and puts on the casserole he finds in the fridge. He also straightens out the carpet, vacuums the bits of dust that have accumulated on that.

 

Silver still hasn’t emerged from the bedroom by then, and Flint- Flint doesn’t feel bad, but he knocks on the door. 

 

“If you come in, I’ll strangle you with this pillowcase,” Silver says through the door. 

 

“I put on the casserole,” Flint tells him, trying his best to be diplomatic. “Do you want a drink?"

 

There’s a pause. “We have any pale ale?” 

 

“Pale ale,” Flint grumbles, but he returns a moment later with the bottle in his hand. “If you’re going to take me out, catch the bottles so they don’t make the floor sticky.” 

 

There’s no answer, so he opens the door, preparing to see a trashed room like the living room. The bedroom is messy, but there are finally sheets on the bed, and Silver’s stuffing a final pillow into its pillowcase. 

 

“Before you say anything, four of those are mine,” Silver says, gesturing towards the pillows. “When you spend three months staying in an abandoned wine cellar, you take as many pillows as you can get once you’re back.” 

 

Flint makes an assenting noise, ignoring Silver’s scoff when he tucks the sheets in underneath the mattress. He opens their beers and passes Silver’s to him. 

 

“And one more thing, what’s with all the khakis?” Silver demands, sitting on the bed. “I looked in your closet.” 

 

“What do you mean? They’re just trousers.”

 

“They’re just- they’re _khaki trousers_. You look like an emotionally absent tennis father.”

 

“They’re khaki trousers,” Flint repeats. “There’s nothing wrong with them.” 

 

“What are you going to wear when it gets too hot? Khaki shorts?” 

 

Flint resolves to buy khaki shorts at this very moment just for the snort that Silver gives at the end of his sentence. “Says the man who’s wearing camouflage  shorts.”

 

“They’ve got built in sun protection, thank you very much. With your hair color, you probably burn if you spend more than two minutes outdoors, so we’ll see who’ll be laughing.” Silver takes a sip of his ale. “Are you going to tell me about him?” 

 

“Who?” Flint says.

 

“The mailman,” Silver says, balancing his beer bottle on one finger. “No, your husband.” 

 

“No,” Flint says, taking a drink. 

 

“What’s his name?” 

 

“Has anyone told you that it’s an incredibly bad idea to be talking about your life outside of your cover, while you are in fact undercover?” 

 

“Probably, and I likely ignored them,” Silver says, catching the bottle in his palm without spilling a drop. “How long have you been married?” 

 

Flint slants a look at him. 

 

“I’m just going to keep asking,” Silver threatens then. “How about this- I’ll let you ask me something, for each question you answer.” 

 

“I don’t want to know about you,” Flint says. “That’s a terrible option.” 

 

“You will,” Silver says with a smirk. “Especially if you want any say in how I craft the story on how we met. Mrs. Brown was very interested when I told her that it’s quite a tale, one that I will no doubt tell her at the potluck.” 

 

“Would you stop,” Flint groans. 

 

“I think you were at a high-end hotel, and you ended up locking yourself out of your room with only a washcloth to cover any naughty bits, and I was working at the front desk-“

 

“He’s a professor,” Flint bites out. “We’ve been married for five years, together for ten.” 

 

“Wow,” Silver says after a moment. “Where did you meet?” 

 

“I think I get two questions now,” Flint says. “What did you talk about with Eleanor the other day, when I left you in her office?” 

 

“Oh,” Silver says. "I was hoping you’d ask me about the first person I’d fucked or something.” 

 

“Silver.” 

 

“We talked about the mission, and my unwillingness to agree to it,” Silver says easily. “That’s all.” 

 

“And?”

 

“And what? I’m going to have to insist that’s your second question.” 

 

“Fine. Why did you agree to it?” 

 

Silver sets the bottle down, then, balancing it against his knee on the bed. “We work well together,” he says then. “Even when we- disagree. She told me that, and I realized that she was right.” 

 

“That’s all?” Flint squints at him. “Are you lying to me?” 

 

“Jesus Christ, do you always think I’m lying to you?” Silver asks, masking it with a laugh, but his eyes show a flash of something - hurt, maybe. “We do work well together. Ontario aside-“

 

“We don’t talk about Ontario.” 

 

“Fine. But you can’t deny it, we work better as partners than as- what, some kind of rival?” He dares to clink his bottle against Flint’s. “I think we’re past that now, right?”

 

Flint studies him, enough so that a crease actually begins to appear in Silver’s forehead. “All right,” Flint says, after another long moment. “I’m going to check on that casserole.”

 

“You do that,” Silver agrees, and when Flint sneaks a glance at him just before he exits, Silver’s still watching him. “Such a good husband,” Silver says with a drawl, and Flint flings the bottle at his head. 

 

He can hear Silver catch it with a clink, mid-laugh, as he leaves the bedroom. 

 

•••

 

They develop a routine. Flint goes into the city most days, Silver tagging along occasionally when he’s needed to do tech work. He sees Flint try to type on the computer once - and Silver nominated himself as the tech specialist for this particular operation, effective immediately. Flint does most of the grunt work, while Silver keeps on eye on Rogers’s house during the day.

 

He learns how Flint cooks with the precision of a Navy cook, refusing Silver to as much step into the kitchen after he once turned on the oven to make a roast, and had promptly forgot about it while arguing with Flint over the merits of different revolvers. Flint cleans as he cooks, as Silver tries to persuade him that not every surface in the house needed to be sterilized for open heart surgery -  often by purposefully spilling crumbs onto the countertops which Flint just scrubbed, much to the other man’s ire. 

 

Flint wears khakis every day, and each time Silver sees him emerge from the bedroom with another crisply ironed pair, he laughs. Flint stops going red around day three, and instead threatens to burn Silver’s collection of brightly colored shorts. Silver buys him a pair of khaki shorts as a joke, and he is horrified when Flint wears them with one of his buttoned polo shirts while watering the front garden. 

 

He also finds out that Flint mumbles in his sleep - often keeping Silver awake. The first few nights, Silver had actually reached for the gun tucked under the mattress when he had heard a voice next to him, before remembering where he was. He watches Flint sleep, mostly, when it happens, and only occasionally nudges him into something closer to awake when the line in Flint’s brow grows too deep. 

 

But Flint also manages to make his peace with the fact that Silver tries on several shirts a day before choosing which one to wear, for example. He stops shouting at Silver when he leaves tea mugs next to the couch, or pushing him off the bed when Silver steals much more than half of the comforter at night. 

 

It’s nice, Silver has to admit, and that something he wouldn’t have ever expected. The shift from murderous to domestic comes far faster than he could have expected, even if their idea of ‘domestic' is Silver instituting a “no more than two guns in the bedroom” rule after he found his pillow covered in gun oil. 

 

Saturday comes quickly, and Silver walks into Flint lathering his face, preparing to shave. “You should keep it,” Silver says, leaning on the open door. 

 

Flint’s eyes meet his in the mirror, still holding his razor. “What?” 

 

“The beard. It suits you,” Silver says, and he’s inordinately pleased when Flint emerges some time later from the bedroom in his button down shirt and (predictably) khakis, and the long stubble he’s tried to coax into something resembling grooming. He’s cut his hair, though, which makes Silver wrinkle his nose. 

 

“It was getting too long,” Flint says, running a hand up the back of his head. “I should buzz it off-“ 

 

“No you aren’t,” Silver says immediately. “Come on, you’d live up to the Navy vet expectations, then.”

 

“I am a Navy vet,” Flint says pointedly. Silver doesn’t miss the way that his eyes rove over Silver’s perfectly respectable shirt and dark jeans, then. “You look-“

 

“Ravishing?” Silver interrupts. “Devastating? Oh no, portly-“ 

 

“Different,” Flint says, narrowing his eyes. “Are those my jeans?”

 

“These are tailored to fit me, so I’d hope not,” Silver says. “I wore sneakers instead of those sandals, so you already owe me. Come on, we’re going to be late for karaoke night.” 

 

“Potluck,” Flint says, as Silver steers them out the door. “It’s a potluck.” He snags the case of cider before Silver can push him out the door. “And you know that."

 

“God, that’s worse. Why the fuck did I accept this invitation?”

 

“Because that’s what nice people do. We’re supposed to be _nice_.” Flint pauses. “You sounded sincere when you accepted their offer.” 

 

“Well that just sounds terrifying. And- it’s called acting. If I truly were your husband, we wouldn’t go to any sort of - _potluck_.”

 

“Play nice,” Flint says, right into his ear as they’re waiting for the Browns to ring them up to their flat. They had talked about this, earlier. The Brown’s flat is right next to the power line that runs Roger’s house as well, and so they’ll want to opportunity for easy access just in case they need to get into Rogers’s house. 

 

Silver turns his head just enough so that he can look right in Flint’s eyes, even though they’re far too close, and it feels much too intimate considering they’re about to join a group of people. “Only for you,” he says, and then the door swings open.

 

•••

 

The party is what Silver expected - he’s the youngest there by a few years, not counting the Browns’s teenage son or the Walton’s older daughter, all three of whom are sulking by the staircase. Silver pours both him and Flint two healthy servings of the spiked punch at one side of the room, Flint following him closely. 

 

They talk to neighbor after neighbor after neighbor - and even as Silver keeps careful track of each other their names, he can see Flint, out of the corner of his eye, downing more of that punch. 

 

“Mrs. Brown,” Silver says, catching the old woman’s attention. “I don’t suppose your other neighbor - that fellow, I’m blanking on his name, sorry - is coming?” 

 

“Ah, no,” Mrs. Brown says, setting down a plate of cut vegetables. She looks between the two of them. “Woods is a solitary man, I’m afraid. If you have something you need to discuss-“

 

“Don’t worry, ma’am,” Flint steps in smoothly. “John here was just admiring the petunias he had out front. We didn’t want to bother him.”

 

Mrs. Brown, as usual when she interacts with Flint, blushes a light pink color. Silver resists the sudden urge to put his hand around Flint’s waist. “That’s very sweet of you, James. Care for some more punch?” 

 

“No thank you, ma’am,” Flint says, holding up his cup. “I’m afraid I have to get this one home safely.” 

 

She titters. “Is John going to be a handful? We have an extra bed just in case you’d rather not walk back.” 

 

“Thank you, but he’ll be fine,” Flint says. “We’ll probably be heading out soon. It’s so nice that everyone in this neighborhood is so close.” 

 

“Oh, certainly,” Mrs. Brown says. “I’ve met the most interesting people here, made some very close friendships.” 

 

“I can imagine,” Silver says, flashing a bright smile at the woman while managing to step hard on Flint’s foot, as he steps closer to his fake husband. He can see a vein bulge in Flint’s neck as he puts a hand around Flint’s bicep. “This is a lovely party. Would you mind terribly pointing me to the wash room?” 

 

“Over there, dear,” Mrs. Brown directs, and then she’s moving away. Flint grabs Silver’s wrist. 

 

“You can’t leave me,” he says insistently. “They’re _chatty_ -“ 

 

“Now now, dear,” Silver says, squeezing his upper arm once before letting go. “Play nice.” 

 

Flint squeezes onto his wrist, almost desperately, as Silver twists out of his grasp and continues to the wash room. The look that Flint sends him is half-pleading, half _I’ll get you back for this_ as someone calls “James Barlow! Just the man I wanted to talk to-"

 

Inside the wash room, Silver’s splashing water on his face when he notices the slightly loose edge to the cabinet. As always, curiosity gets the better of him, and he pulls at the siding until it reveals a tiny compartment. 

 

“Well, well,” Silver mutters to himself as he pulls out a small notebook. “What do we have here?” 

•••

 

“There were dates and initials,” Silver tells Flint as they walk back to the house, heads bent together. It’s a warm night, and with every step, Silver’s arm brushes against Flint’s. “I memorized some of it before someone knocked on the door, but I can’t put my mind to whether or not it could be connected to Rogers.”

 

“If it’s some sort of code book, he could have stashed it there in case his house was ever raided,” Flint points out. “It’s not unheard of to have backups in multiple locations. He would have a backup file that they or the police would never find.” 

 

“Or they’re accomplices,” Silver muses. “Maybe Rogers is paying them off? They might hear some of the strange business he gets up to, their houses are rather close-"

 

“She invited me to the end of summer barbecue,” Flint says. “Unless she’s using the grill to torture information out of us, I think it’s pretty safe to assume they’re a kind old couple, and Rogers could be taking advantage of them.”

 

“James Flint, are you assuming the better nature of someone in this moment?” Silver stops walking, amusement bubbling in his chest when Flint scowls. “Someone note this down in their diary - the pessimist becomes the optimist. Maybe it’s the night air, or the punch that’s making you blush-"

 

Flint shoots him a glare, and keeps walking. Silver has to hurry to catch up to him, then. “I’m not a pessimist.” 

 

“You don’t have to lie to me, it’s okay,” Silver says soothingly, and he cackles when Flint tries to trip him once again. “I did supposedly marry you, old man tendencies and all."

 

“You’re a child,” Flint says. 

 

“Tell me, should I get you a rocking chair for the balcony?” Silver asks. "I think I’ll come home one day and you’ll be shouting at kids walking on your front lawn.”

 

Flint ignores him. “We can send the intel to Eleanor. Maybe someone will be able to crack those,” he says. They’re at the house now, and Silver holds the door open for him so they can traipse up the stairs. 

 

“God, a barbecue,” Silver says, as they reach their door. “Tell me you’ll wear those khaki shorts?” 

 

Flint locks him out of the apartment just for that. Silver has to go downstairs and break back in in by scaling the side of the building, but at least Flint is thoughtful enough to leave the side window unlocked by the time he gets back in. 

 

•••

 

“Eleanor just reached out,” Flint says as Silver walks in through the door. “She says that the numbers aren’t anything they can use in Roger’s system. Maybe it’s something else?” 

 

“I can’t imagine what if could be,” Silver says, dropping the keys into the bowl on the sideboard. “Damn, what if the sweet Browns are their own crime ring organizers?” 

 

“Then they’re doing very well for themselves, hiding out here,” Flint says, turning a page in his book. “Did you get more detergent?”

 

“Don’t worry, your sensitive skin will be cradled once more,” Silver says, brandishing a plastic bag towards him. “I’m going to put on the sheets now. Any luck on Roger’s system?” 

 

“I tailed one of the bodyguards today,” Flint says. “Rogers sent him to meet one of Hornigold’s men. They have a warehouse down by the water. Got a look in before I had to get out, looks like lots of shipping materials, but no illicit substances."

 

“He couldn’t just make it easy for us, could he,” Silver says, sighing. “Pizza tonight?” 

 

“Sounds good,” Flint says. There’s a faint ringing sound, then, and he jumps upright, as Silver peers in the direction of the bedroom. 

 

“Ah, that’s my phone,“ Silver remembers, and he waves off Flint’s incredulous expression as he goes into the bedroom. 

 

He picks up on the fifth ring. “Shooting at anyone currently?” Silver says into the phone.

 

“I have a minute for you,” Madi says, her voice clearer as there’s muffled noise in the background. “Thought I’d make sure you didn’t kill your husband. I have yet to get you a wedding present, you know."

 

“Hilarious,” Silver says. “You should quit this business, get your own show-“ 

 

“Is it that bad?” Madi asks, her voice curious. “You sound different.” 

 

“No, ah-“ Silver glances out, moving the door a little until he can see the back of Flint’s head where he’s settled back on the couch with his book. “It’s going surprisingly well, actually.”

 

There’s quiet. “Hmm.”

 

“What?” Silver asks, feeling defensive at her tone. 

 

“Not long ago, you were asking me to, and I quote, 'show up to put a bullet through my brain before that smarmy bastard does it himself, I won’t give him the pleasure’, unquote,” Madi says. “And now playing house with him is fine?” 

 

“We worked some things out,” Silver says. “I’m not sure how or why but - it works. Is that so hard to believe?” 

 

“Oh,” Madi says then. “I get it.” 

 

“What- get what?”

 

“I’ll let you figure that out on your own glacial place,” Madi says. “Oh, damn, have to go. People shooting at me, and all.”

 

“You’re lying, but I’ll let it slide because there’s a chance you might not be,” Silver says, feeling warmth bloom in his chest when Madi laughs. 

 

“I’ll be back soon. When your op is done, we’ll take a nice vacation somewhere, how about that?” 

 

“I look forward to it,” Silver says, and he hangs up the phone.

 

Flint sends a questioning eyebrow in his direction when he emerges. “Work friend- well, ah. Part-time girlfriend,” Silver says, with a sort of complicated hand gesture he regrets doing as soon as he starts. 

 

“Ah,” Flint says. “Another-?”

 

“Yes, she’s doing some recon work God knows where,” Silver says, settling on the couch next to Flint. “You’d get along terrifyingly well, I suspect. No sense for self-preservation, and stubborn as an ox.” 

 

“Mmm,” Flint says, and after a moment, he sets down his book. Silver waits. “My husband, he would read me pieces of his students’ papers. His research was in classics, and some of the pretentious things that his students would pass off as thoughtful analysis, and he could go on for hours about some particularly awful research.” 

 

“Yeah?” Silver asks, nudging Flint’s shin with his foot. “I can see that.”   _I can see how you fell in love with him,_ he thinks.

 

“The real entertainment was how he would read this papers, and then stare at me with these baleful eyes, as if expecting me to feel every bit of his outrage,” Flint says, his eyes going distant. “I could have cared less about whatever poem they were supposed to analyze, I just liked watching him become so passionate, even if he was ranting about something.” 

 

“You must miss him,” Silver says finally, as Flint’s eyes slowly slide back to meet his. 

 

“I do,” Flint says, thumbing the corner of his book absent-mindedly for a moment before looking back at him. “You must miss her.” 

 

“Every day,” Silver says, and the way that Flint’s mouth twitches up into a soft smile, it makes him feel something - so he gets up to busy himself with cleaning out the fridge, all the while feeling Flint’s eyes on him from across the room. 

 

•••

 

Flint hits a key, then rapidly hits it again and again and again. Silver looks over from where he’s reassembling his gun, cross-legged in front of the couch. “What, lost another bidding war? Those antique roadshow bastards.”

 

Flint just glowers down at him, which Silver has learned over these past few weeks is a sure sign that he’s truly annoyed, and not just his standard level of emotions. “It’s the  _fucking_ encryption.”

 

“Still the system?” Silver asks, sliding the barrel smoothly down on the gun, looking through the sights for a moment before setting it down. “I thought I got you in.” 

 

“There’s a locked section behind some sort of- firewall,” Flint gets out, squinting at the screen. “Any damning evidence is probably right- right _there_ , and I can’t get to it.”

 

“Let me see,” Silver says, and Flint passes him the computer. He browses through, tries a few tricks- “Damn. Rogers really is quite paranoid. I don’t suppose Eleanor’s decided to issue us a warrant?” 

 

“Of course not,” Flint says, exhaling. “We get a judge to sign something, Rogers knows about it and has deleted all the evidence before we even get to his office.”

 

“He must have the key somewhere,” Silver reasons. “Did your contact come through?” 

 

“No, Max couldn’t make sense of his system. She suggested that there might be a key located somewhere as a paper copy somewhere in his office, for when Rogers or Hornigold needs to access the files.",” Flint says with a frustrated noise. He slams the computer shut. “It could be anywhere. And I can’t get past the bloody security in the office."

 

Silver’s mind races. “He needs that key to get into the system, right?” 

 

“Yes,” Flint says, “But short of watching him type it in-“

 

“What if he keeps two copies?” Silver asks. “One at the office, where Hornigold can also access it, but also one at home?”

 

“No,” Flint says abruptly. “Absolutely not-“

 

“It’s the only way,” Silver retorts. “I could scale in-“

 

“You’re not breaking into Rogers’ house to look for something you don’t even know could exist,” Flint snaps. “You could jeopardize any chance we get at collecting intelligence-“

 

“I could be in and out without him ever knowing I was there,” Silver argues. “We wait until he’s at the office, we can distract the security team and disable the feeds-“

 

“We don’t have the clearest idea of the layout or the traps he might have there,” Flint says, but Silver can sense his victory emerging as Flint’s shoulders slump. “It’s, quite frankly, irresponsible and dangerous to assume that he hasn’t thought about that possibility-“

 

“It’s his _home,”_ Silver says, “In  _Hampstead._ This could significantly move forward our plan.”

 

They call their handler in the end, and despite all of Flint’s protests, Eleanor agrees with Silver. With a direct order to attempt to find the key in Roger’s house, Flint has no choice but to go with Silver's plan. 

 

Silver comes out in a sweatshirt and joggers, and refuses to put on the bulletproof vest that Flint has out on the coffee table. "I'm trying to be  _incognito_ ," he says, pushing the vest away with his foot. 

 

"You're going to get shot, and I'm not going to cry at your funeral," Flint says. 

"I've seen you get weepy-eyed at diaper commercials, I think we know there would be some tears," Silver says, and he's sliding out the door before Flint can throw anything at him. 

 

 

•••

 

With the security team stationed outside the house now distracted by the small fire that Silver started in the recycling bin, he’s able to swing his legs over the fence and get to the side of the house, hidden under cover of the night.  “Is poison ivy the one with three or two leaves?” he asks, testing his weight on the trellis before climbing on it. 

 

Flint makes a pained sound even through the earpiece. “I know you know the answer to that. What are you doing?” 

 

“I think it would absolutely be in character for Rogers to plant poison ivy here,” Silver says, climbing up the side of the house. “Just another deterrent. That, and the multiple Glock-wielding men on the ground below.”

 

“Concentrate,” Flint hisses. “You’ll have under five minutes to get in and out, remember.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Silver says, and listens to Flint swear at him under his breath as he swings the window open, rolling inside without a sound. “Glad I stretched my hamstrings before this- aw, shit.”

 

“What is it?” 

 

“Nearly fell back into the yard just now. Wouldn’t that have been embarrassing, you having to rush in your pajamas to call someone to come scrape me up from Rogers’s petunias-“ 

 

“Silver, shut up,” Flint says. “Are you in the office?” 

 

“Yes, with my adrenaline racing, just like when I’m around you,” Silver says, peering around in the dim light. “His personal computer’s here, along with a disturbing vintage pin-up poster. Ugh. That’ll haunt my dreams.” 

 

“We can’t grab it,” Flint says. “He’ll notice it missing.” 

 

“You’re right, it would look horrible with our decor-“

 

“The computer, Silver.” 

 

Silver laughs quietly, his fingers already flying across the keyboard. “I’m trying to get in now. If I can copy anything-“

 

“Not worth the risk,” Flint says, as Silver abandons the computer while it copies onto the disk drive he’d brought with him in favor of searching the room. “Any sign of a key?” 

 

Silver scans the room, checking all possible hiding locations. “Not that I can see. Do you think it would be a notebook, or-?”

 

“Given Rogers’s paranoia, he might have it disguised as something else,” Flint says. “Look for receipts, or even something that looks like notes, anything out of place-“ 

 

Silver sees a book that’s slightly crooked on the bookshelf, out of place in the otherwise tidy room. “Winner winner,” he says, drawing it out of the shelf. “Hmm. He’s got terrible taste. Why on earth was Eleanor ever married to him-“ 

 

“Silver, get out,” Flint says suddenly. “They’ve extinguished the fire. You need to get out, now.”

 

“Alright, alright,” Silver says, taking quick photos of the book’s interior, the handwriting scrawled in it that likely has nothing to do with a critical analysis of Catcher in the Rye. “I’m almost done-“ 

 

“Silver. Get out.” Flint orders. “You have less than a minute.”

 

Silver pops the hard drive out of the computer, tucking that and his phone away before shimmying the window open. “Adieu,” he says to the poster on the wall, before sliding down the gutter. 

 

“ _Silver.”_

 

“Right, right,” Silver says, clambering down the house as quietly as he can. “I’ll be there in a tic.” 

 

Flint’s silent as he makes his way across the yard, flinging himself over the fence until he’s lying flat on the ground, listening to the security team walk right by him, his heartbeat thudding from where he’s in the grass. Then he’s up and moving, walking nonchalantly back onto the street like he’s stretching his legs this late at night. 

 

“Mission success,” Silver says, taking off his gloves once he’s a comfortable distance away from Rogers’s house. “Hey, what do you put on poison ivy?” 

 

“Calamine,” Flint says after a moment, his voice sounding strange before he clears his throat. “Was it poison ivy?”

 

“I’m already itching,” Silver tells him cheerfully through the earpiece. “Draw me a bath, would you?” 

 

•••

 

“I feel like scratching all my skin off, darling,” Silver says from the other side of the door. “Fuck, this is why I never go camping.”

 

“You never go camping because you can’t stand going a day, willingly, without a shower,” Flint says from outside of the bathroom. He can smell the sharp scent of calamine from here. “I’ve seen our utility bills.” 

 

“You don’t pay them, so you don’t get to complain about them,” Silver says, and there’s a faint splashing sound. “So tell me we’ve got something.”

 

Flint squints at the photos, the warm steam from the bathroom escaping from underneath the door near his feet. “It’s not in English. Did we know that Rogers knew any other languages?”

 

“A bit of Spanish, but that’s it,” Silver says. “Do you know it?”

 

“Not remotely,” Flint says. “It makes sense that Rogers would take these extra steps, but I’m not sure how we go from here. It’s in this strange script-“ He zooms in onto the screen, squinting at it. “Which I also don’t recognize.” 

 

“Show me,” Silver says. Flint looks at the closed door. “Come in here-“

 

Flint pushes open the door, slowly, and stops. Silver’s in the bathtub, enough bubbles around him to thankfully conceal below his waist, but Flint’s stuck on the pale flush that’s on the top of his chest and cheeks, skin rosy from the heat, or the strands of hair that are escaping from the bun on his head, sticking to his neck. “Show me,” Silver repeats, while Flint is stuck in place. His feet can’t move. “Don’t drop the phone in the tub, I’m not sure they sell that brand of Blackberry you like so much anymore.“

 

“I’m not going to drop it in the fucking tub,” Flint snaps, breaking free of whatever it was and he steps forward to hand Silver the phone. “Don’t get soap on it,” he says, as Silver flips him off, and he goes to awkwardly sit on the closed toilet. “Do you recognize the language?”

 

“No clue,” Silver says after staring at the screen, reaching to put the phone on the edge of the bathtub. Flint trusts him just enough to catch it before it would slide in, and he definitely doesn’t look at the dark hair trailing down Silver’s abdomen when he lifts himself slightly out of the tub. “Some dead language?”

 

“Really, I wouldn’t have guessed,” Flint deadpans. 

 

“Pass me a towel,” Silver says, as he rises dangerously out of the tub. “I’m going to be rashy all over. Ugh.” Flint hasn't noticed any rashes, to be honest, as he's been making himself look at the tiles above the tub instead of the man in it. 

 

“With our clean sheets?” Flint says, in mock distraught as he turns around to get into the closet, tosses a towel at his face without looking at him. Silver catches it. 

 

“I’m squeaky clean now, doll,” Silver says with a smirk growing at the corners of his mouth. “Care to join me before I become a prune in here?”

 

Flint levels him with a look in response, not at all thinking about why his throat has gone dry in the humid, damp room, and he leaves the bathroom before Silver says anything else. 

 

He’s typing at the secure computer when Silver emerges from the bathroom. “I’m going to contact Eleanor again,” Flint says. “If we can’t figure out what the key is, we’re stuck trying to get any new intel. I don’t know how we’re going to translate that, though.” Silver sits down next to him. 

 

“Well, there’s always a way,” Silver says, tilting his head to meet Flint’s eyes. His breath smells like fresh mint as it washes over Flint’s face. “We’ll find a way.” 

 

“We’ve seen this before,” Eleanor says later, her voice crackling slightly through the connection. “Rogers has some sort of archaic language-based code for sensitive information. We have experts translating what we’ve got, but it’s slow work.” 

 

“Any update on the agents tailing Hornigold?” Silver asks, perched on the arm chair next to Flint. “We think that Hornigold’s involved in the actual illegal shipping, while Rogers runs the operation from their offices.” 

 

“Nothing that will help you in this,” Eleanor says. “I’m going to send other agents to help you on this operation. They’ll be briefed and there by the end of next week.”

 

Flint exchanges a look with Silver before he even realizes what they’re doing. “Ma’am-“ 

 

“The information you’ve unearthed needs to be translated and coded. We have reason to think that there will be a large shipment of weapons through Hornigold’s warehouses in the coming weeks, so it’s all hands on deck,” Eleanor says briskly. “That’s all. Good luck, agents.”

 

There’s silence for a few moments after Eleanor disconnects.

 

Silver says, “We have to-“

 

“Yes,” Flint says. 

 

“If we’re going to do this-“

 

“We’ll have to work quickly.” Flint pauses. “We aren’t going to compromise the mission, we’ll just- make progress. Have Eleanor keep the probationary agents far, far away.”

 

“Hmm,” Silver says. “How tough do you think that office security is?"

 

•••

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: today marks 1 year since my first bs fic (200k later, im still writing about these two idiots for beTTER AND FOR WORSE)
> 
> i'm @jamesbarlow!


	3. Chapter 3

They make a plan. In a week’s time, Rogers is away at a conference, and Hornigold is on vacation for a few days according to Silver’s innocent-sounding call to one of his secretaries. They’ll go in during the business day to avoid the reinforced night security, and Flint will get access to his office. 

 

He’ll get in, collect the second handwritten key. Then they'll be able to use the small variations in the handwriting, they’’ll hopefully be able to make sense of what it is they’re looking at. Flint thinks they’re instructions to get into the database, while Silver is of a mind that they’re some sort of nonsensical code to be used as a password. 

 

Flint cleans his weapons, and Silver reads over blueprints and schedules until he’s memorized them all ten times over. If it goes to plan, Flint won’t have to fire a single shot, and they’ll both be back in the car, with their cover still intact, no one the wiser.

 

Now, though, they just have to wait.

 

“I’ve killed people,” Silver says in a hushed tone, so that only he can hear. “I’ve watched men die right in front of me. I’ve seen the light fade from their eyes. But this- this is beyond- this is despicable.” 

 

“Are you always this dramatic?” Flint says, closing the glass door. “Wait, don’t answer that. I’m afraid of what you’ll tell me.”

 

Silver squints up into the bright overhead lights of the grocery store. “Is there even a God up there?” 

 

“Quit that, it’s just orange juice. What’s the difference?” 

 

“The difference is that this  _abomination has pulp._ Orange juice, with pulp. This is the cruelest invention-“

 

“I’m not putting it back. I like the pulp.” Flint rolls the grocery cart forward another three feet. They’re the only ones in the aisle, so he mutters, “You’re going to blow our cover, or worse yet, get us thrown out of this store.”

 

“ _Abomination_ ,” Silver repeats, eyeing the carton of orange juice in their cart with no small amount of disgust. “First the terrible canned soups, now the juice-“

 

“I  _like_ those soups,” Flint says defensively. “They’re a healthy dinner-“

 

“They taste like sadness, James. Loneliness and sadness.” Silver catches up to him, bumping his hip with his. “If you’re insisting on getting those soups, can I buy-“

 

“No.” 

 

“I didn’t finish! And I don’t need your permission-“ 

 

“Then you shouldn’t have asked for my permission.” 

 

“Well I’m not going to go back by myself. I caught a glance of Ms. Walton by the frozen food section.” Silver kicks the cart slightly so that Flint has to grab onto it before it can roll away, swearing lightly under his breath  _because Silver is a bit of a bastard._ “That woman is a menace. We should have Eleanor put her on a list. Did you get peppers?” 

 

“I thought you told me you didn’t like them.”

 

“I was quite neutral about them until you started making them every night. You eat a lot of peppers when you’re stressed, you know that?” 

 

Flint thinks about telling him very pointedly that the reason why he’s stressed is because they’re about to attempt an off-the-books, dangerous break-in for less than ethical reasons, but he settles on whispering angrily, “Then you don’t have to buy them!"

 

“Baby, for you, I’d buy dozens of peppers,” Silver says in a put-upon accent, and he only laughs and swerves when Flint tries to shove him into the bread stand. “Ow, fuck, watch it, can’t be shoving your trophy husband around-“ 

 

“This is the last time I take you to the store with me,” Flint threatens. “We’ve been here  _two hours.”_

 

_“An hour and a half_ \- really, and you say I’m being dramatic-“

 

“You’re a menace,” Flint says, meaning to sound angry but it sounds resigned even to his own ears. The suburbs are making him soft, and it’s only been a few weeks. “I’m in and out of here in fifteen minutes most days.” 

 

_“_ Well I wasn’t the one flirting with the flower girl now, was I?” 

 

“I can assure you,” Flint says flatly, “I was not flirting with the flower girl.”

 

“Well she was certainly flirting with you, and I couldn’t let that stand.” Silver grabs a box of biscuits off the shelf as they pass it, tossing it into the cart. Flint winces at the crunching sound. “I had to claim what was mine and all. She looked devastated, but, y’know. It’s the principle of the thing.” 

 

Silver had slid in behind him, wrapped an arm around his waist while he put his chin over his shoulder. He had grinned slyly at the young woman working at the counter, his hair ticking Flint’s neck, before he had rather breathlessly inquired as to the whereabouts of the produce section. It had been entirely unnecessary, and Flint had been half-convinced that Silver had taken the opportunity to do something like place a small explosive device in one of Flint’s pockets just to see if he’d notice. 

 

“Principle?” Flint questions. 

 

“My admittedly loose morals do exist,” Silver says, “My fake vows do mean something.”

 

Flint rolls his eyes. “Grab another tub of butter. You’ve practically inhaled the last one."

 

They eventually get out of the store, with Silver talking the entire time that Flint loads the groceries and drives the car. They go for a walk that afternoon, around the neighborhood, Silver convincing Flint as a 'de-stressor', finally succeeding after Flint snaps at him for eating a pear too loudly. 

 

Halfway down the block, Silver reaches over so that he can join their hands, his wedding band cool against Flint’s fingers as he laces them together. It’s an easy gesture, one that Thomas has done thousands of times - and the memory makes Flint’s chest pull as he misses his real husband with new intensity. But he realizes it’s not better or worse that Silver’s holding his hand now - it’s different. 

 

As Silver leans in close to tell him about a time he was trapped in Berlin for seventy-four hours with five euros and a broken toothbrush in his pocket, Flint wonders when they had crossed the line from enmity to- whatever this is. 

 

“I imagined how we got married,” Silver says reflectively at dinner that night, and Flint has to swallow twice."Part of undercover work, darling, is to live the lie, you know. Make the memories happen.”

 

“Oh?” Flint asks. “Tell me, was there a shootout involved?”

 

“I’m far too refined to have guns at my wedding,” Silver insists, but he relents at Flint’s knowing look. “All right, all right-  I had it all thought out, thought. We had a reception on the beach, you wore your dress uniform, I had a bowtie. I made you cry with my vows, you lovingly pushed my face into the cake. I made you take a garter off my shapely leg, and Eleanor did shots with you at the open bar. My mother and Admiral Hennessy were also there.”

 

“You’ve given this a lot of thought,” Flint says after a moment, the kitchen silent except for the clink of their silverware against the plates. 

 

"It was a nice thing,” Silver says. “A nice fake memory.” 

 

”It’s a ridiculous idea,” Flint says, but before Silver can respond, he adds, “You would have been there right alongside Eleanor Guthrie and I, doing shots at that bar. You’re not that refined, dear.” 

 

In this light, Silver’s face looks oddly pink as he stabs a ravioli on his plate. “That’s what you focus on?” 

 

“I’d look better in garters too,” Flint says, and Silver spits out his ravioli. 

 

After he finishes coughing, Flint brings out the bottle of whiskey. “In case the plan tomorrow doesn’t work,” he starts, and Silver interrupts him. 

 

“It will work. We’ve got the rotations, the cameras, the people to watch - all down. It will work,” Silver says, and he doesn’t know if he’s convincing himself or Flint. 

 

“Right,” Flint says. “But just in case-“

 

“I won’t hear it,” Silver proclaims grandly, throwing back the whiskey despite Flint’s raised eyebrows. “Come on, old man, let’s see how drunk I can get you the night before your very important day.” 

 

 

•••

 

 

They’re, once again, going through a bottle of whiskey, and both well on their way to being drunk, sitting at the kitchen island. “You’ll do better with a bit of a hangover,” Silver says, sloppily pouring him more in his glass. “That’s a known fact.” 

 

“I think you just like seeing me drunk,” Flint says clearly. “Drunk. Terribly so.” The lights seem to flicker above them, then, and Flint distantly wonders if he remembered to change that one. 

 

“You shoot better,” Silver says, leering, and he makes an obscene gesture that makes Flint need to take another sip. “Did I ever tell you about that time I infiltrated an art forgery ring in Bristol?” 

 

“No, and I don’t care,” Flint says. 

 

“I’ll tell you over the comms tomorrow,” Silver says, waving his hand. “A thrilling tale of how I got fucked over a Rodin, both figuratively and literally."

 

“Please,” Flint says, “Stop talking.” 

 

“Quite a year,” Silver ends, and he takes a sip of whiskey. Flint, because he’s a drunk fool, watches the way his throat works, then makes himself look into his glass. He’s not- it’s not -

 

“Flint?” Silver says then, and Flint looks up when there are cool fingers under his chin. “You look light years away from here.” Flint lets him tilt his head up, looks at him. “I have heard that tolerance drops dangerously in old age."

 

“The mission tomorrow,” he says, and watches something dim down in Silver’s eyes, feels those fingers dig in slightly underneath his jaw, but it doesn’t hurt, as he takes a breath in. They need to talk about- “There’s a good chance that I get caught.”

 

“They’re just overpaid security officials,” Silver says. “Worst case scenario, they turn you over to local police. You’ll be turned over back to the agency, and you’ll have to listen through a comm to me crying to the neighbors about my cheating husband I kicked out.”

 

“That’s not the worst case scenario,” Flint says, “I know you know that.” The steadiness in his voice feels directly at odds with the looseness in his limbs, as he lets Silver’s fingers move back and forth on his face ever so slightly. 

 

“I’m sure you’ll tell me exactly what it is you’re envisioning,” Silver says, his voice terribly teasing and fond. They’ve leaning towards each other, Flint’s knee against Silver’s hip from where they’ve fit together. “I thought you said you weren’t a pessimist. Don’t tell me that _I’m right_ for once, I might just have a stroke out of sheer surprise-“ 

 

“Silver,” Flint says, interrupting. “Rogers’s office is guarded by his own men, ones that won’t turn me over to the local police.” 

 

“Then I’ll come find you,” Silver says. “They capture you, I’ll come find whatever hole in the ground they stash you in. I’m a rather jealous man, you see, and I don’t care for others zip-tying your wrists and leaving you to-"

 

“Silver,” Flint says again, and he can see Silver swallow. “You know you can’t do that. It’s against all sorts of protocol." 

 

“Yeah, well, you know me, darling,” Silver says then, his eyes searching even as his voice sounds suspiciously light. “You know I’m terrible at following the rules.” 

 

“You’re a good agent,” Flint says then, and Silver’s eyes widen. “They’ll need you to stay in the field, finish this thing. You have to promise me-“

 

“Don’t make me make promises you know I won’t keep,” Silver says suddenly, his eyes far sharper, as if he wasn’t as drunk as he was just a few minutes ago. “I’m not going to leave you-“

 

“You will,” Flint snaps, then, feeling far more weary as he watches Silver’s jaw tense, feels the air grow tense between them. Sliver hasn’t stopped touching his face. “I know you will. This is bigger than you and I-“

 

“I can’t believe-“ Silver starts, color high in his cheeks, before stopping suddenly. Flint feels the moment extend, stretch, as though it’s a rubber band about to snap. He’s watching Silver to see whose end will break first, who will get hit first. 

 

Silver makes a decision then-  whatever it is, Flint doesn’t realize, not until he’s leaning in, hand still on Flint’s face, and he kisses him. 

 

Silver’s mouth is cool on his, in part due to the whiskey, or maybe that’s since Flint has felt like something’s been boiling underneath his skin ever since Silver looked at him with those blue eyes in a seedy bar in Charleston. This isn’t for an audience - this isn’t Silver kissing his neck at the grocery store, a him stealing a quick peck in front of the neighbors at a gathering. This is Silver in front of him now, just the two of them, Silver making a noise low in his throat that makes Flint want to pull him in closer until he reaches that noise again, draws it out again and again until he’s memorized every sound that Silver makes during it all. 

 

Silver’s tongue runs over his lower lip, and there’s a clink when the back of his hand hits the bottle from where he moves to grip Flint’s shoulder, and that’s when Flint moves back. It’s a slight gesture, but enough so that Silver pulls back entirely, looking at him with wide eyes. He must be drunker than Flint thought, but then again, Silver’s always been the better liar of the two of them. 

 

“I’m tired,” Flint says then, looking away from Silver, away from his mouth. “I”m going to bed.”

 

Silver doesn’t follow him when he gets up to go to the bedroom, and Flint falls asleep in an empty bed. 

 

 

•••

 

 

The next morning, the day of the operation, Flint makes his way into the kitchen feeling stiff, but thankfully there’s only the slight echo of a headache in the back of his head. He stops, when he sees Silver on the couch.

 

Silver’s typing away at a computer, though, and barely lifts his head when he sees Flint. Before Flint can say anything, he says, “I’ve just got the shift schedule for today. The receptionist is the one with the sick cat. We give her a call, she’ll step away from the desk, and then you have extra time to get by the security checkpoint.” 

 

“That’s - good.” Flint says. Silver looks up, nods. “Have you seen the revolver?” 

 

He points towards the closet, and Flint retrieves it, tucks it into his waist. He hears Silver shut the computer, stand up.

 

“We have got to stop drinking before ops,” Silver says then, and Flint resists the urge to turn around to look at him. “My mouth feels like the fucking Sahara. Tell me the truth, did I break that bottle over my head before I went to sleep?” 

 

They’re professionals. They can deal with this. If Silver wants to forget a momentary lapse in his judgement, Flint will let him. Flint turns around, Silver watching him. “Did you really get fucked on a sculpture?” he asks, and just like that, they’re back to the normal, banter, and Flint ignores the way that his throat has grown tight. 

 

•••

 

“In and out,” Silver says. Flint peers out the front window as he adjusts the knife at his calf. Once Silver pulls into the alleyway next door, he’s going in through the service entrance (no security guards at that entrance he might have to convince to let him in),  and Silver’s going to take off for their meeting place (three blocks away, more remote and with half a dozen ways to get out) until Flint gets there. 

 

“In and out,” Flint agrees, checking to make sure the revolver is tucked close to his body, unseen. His suit jacket has a mic and a tracking device concealed in the collar, standard issue, and Silver had slipped another tracker into his shoe that he thinks Flint didn’t notice. 

 

“Old man,” Silver says then, and Flint turns to him. “Try not to get killed, yeah?” 

 

The corner of Flint’s mouth turns up. “And dare to take that away from you?” he says, fixing his tie one last time, and he gets out of the car. He makes sure his comm is on, invisible in his ear, and listens to Silver breathe in and out. 

 

Flint walks inside, puts on an expression of indifference when he puts his briefcase on the receptionist’s counter. “I have confidential paperwork for Woodes Rogers,” Flint says, making his tone bored. “I’m an assistant for his attorneys."

 

The receptionist looks at him. “I’m afraid Mr. Rogers is out of the office-“

 

“I just need to deliver them to Sheila,” Flint says, widening his eyes. “She said she'll hold on to them for me so I don’t have to get up at some horrible time on Monday- my car broke down over the weekend, see,, and my boss wants me to get these to Mr. Rogers, but Sheila, Sheila really is doing me a favor, what with those bloody trains I’m having to cope with-“ 

 

It’s a bit of a gamble, they had decided, but the receptionist nods quickly as if he just wants Flint to go away. Which he does, because Flint knows he’s just cutting into his break time to visit the cute barista down the street, as Flint had noticed during his recon. 

 

“All right, bruv,” the receptionist says, and he swipes his ID card to let Flint through. “Just be quick-" so that Flint can enter the long hallway. 

 

“Thanks,” Flint tosses over his shoulder, picking up the empty briefcase and walking through the gate. 

 

“You natural liar, you,” Silver says, sounding fond over the tense note in his tone, but he doesn’t say anything else as Flint approaches the metal detectors. 

 

“Identification?” The security guard says, barely looking up from his chair. 

 

Flint gives them the fake ID, and he can hear Silver mutter under his breath while they wait for it process through the system. 

 

“You’re set, Mr. Vasquez,” the guard says.

 

“I just turned off the detector,” Silver says. “God, the agency ought to be glad I’m working for them, I’m that good.” 

 

Flint passes through, and nothing gets detected, so he thanks Silver internally. He boards the lift up to Rogers’s office, then. 

 

“That was too easy,” Silver says. “Elevator nine?” 

 

Flint can see the camera on the corner of the elevator, so he makes the tiniest noise of affirmation. 

 

“There you are,” Silver says. “Relax your shoulders. Your posture’s far too good for a bored legal assistant.” 

 

Flint complies, and the elevator dings a floor too early. He glances up at the camera. 

 

“That’s not me,” Silver says suddenly. “Don’t get off-“ 

 

The doors open, and Flint meets the eyes of two security guards. They draw their guns upon seeing him, and he barely manages to dive to the side before bullets ricochet through, hitting the wall behind him.  

 

There’s shouting, and Flint throws the briefcase away from him in favor of drawing his gun. “What the fuck-“ Flint gets out. “What happened?” 

 

“Get out of there,” Silver says immediately. “Get up on top of the lift. It’s not worth it-“

 

“I have to engage,” Flint says loudly, right into his collar, as  bullet flies by him, and he fires around the corner blindly, keeping them away from entering the space. “They’ve seen my face- they know-“ 

 

“Get out!” Silver screams, and Flint runs out of the elevator. 

 

Flint throws a punch at the security guard nearest him while he reloads his gun. He hits another one with the end of the revolver, shooting the third over the other’s shoulder. He staggers, then, from a blow to his rib cage, and manages to throw the other man on the ground, the man’s arms thrashing and hitting him in the face. 

 

Flint grunts, drawing the knife and stabbing another low in the stomach, just as the other guard kicks him hard in the side, then in the head, making him see stars. 

 

He can distantly hear Silver shouting through the comms, but Flint’s adrenaline surges as he’s picked up by the tall guard, bending his arm until the guard drops him with a shout. He lands hard on his arm, swearing as something cracks, and he scrabbles for the gun the other guard dropped. 

 

Then he hears a click, and there’s another gun is at his temple. Flint slowly lets go of his gun, and looks up to see Benjamin Hornigold. 

 

“Agent Flint,” Hornigold says, and Flint spits out blood onto the ground in front of him. “I presume you are Flint? I would have guessed more of a fight from you.” 

 

“Let’s see if you can take me down yourself,” Flint sneers. “Or are you too much of a coward?” 

 

“Flint,” Silver says through the comm, sounding shaken. “You fucking-“ 

 

“I’m afraid I’ll have to pass,” Hornigold says, his lip curling. “If you had showed up here with some officers and a warrant, I might have let you leave. But your operation failed, and you’re going to pay the consequences of disrupting me."

 

“He thinks you’re working alone,” Silver says. “He doesn’t know-” and there’s a distinctive click of someone loading a gun in the comm. He can see Silver storming the office, trying some sort of ill-planned rescue attempt, and Flint sees Hornigold easily shooting Silver in the head the moment he steps in.

 

His blood runs cold at the image. He can’t let Silver do that- can’t stand the thought of losing - 

 

“Don’t,” Flint says, clearly into his microphone, and he can hear Silver swear at him. Hornigold stares coolly at him, thinking it’s for him, that Flint’s pleading for his life. 

 

Keeping eye contact with Hornigold, Flint says again, “Don’t do it,” and Silver makes a low, pained sound in his ear, worse than the swearing. 

 

“Not here,” Hornigold says, looking away from Flint to the security guard who cocks his gun. “Take him elsewhere. I don’t want anyone to find the body.” The guard reaches for him, and when Flint violently struggles away, he twists Flint’s injured wrist. Flint sees white for a moment. 

 

“James-“ Silver says, desperate, and Flint throws his head back, a hard enough blow so that the guard is distracted, and he takes the man’s handgun.

 

He shoots Hornigold twice in the chest, and he doesn’t feel it when the security guard hits him hard in the head, just hears the sickening crack before he loses consciousness. 

 

•••

 

_“Shit_ ,” Silver swears. They had gotten Flint’s limp body into one of the company cars, and are now headed out of the city. Silver tails the car, far enough so that they can’t notice, but he keeps on seeing Flint’s bloodied head over and over again. 

 

He glances over at the screen, confirms the car’s location with the moving dot. They had stripped him of his jacket and shoes, but even Flint hadn’t known about the tiny tracking chip Silver had embedded in the hem of his dark button down shirt. 

 

The car exits, two hundred yards ahead of him, and Silver does the same. He sees the car stop, in front of an abandoned office building, and he watches as the men carry a limp Flint into the building. They haven’t stopped dump a body, so they must think that there’s something they can get out of him. The rest of the men stay outside, and one of them sees Silver’s car, nudges the man next to him. 

 

Silver puts the car in park, and he reaches over to the dashboard, feeling an eerie sort of calm settle over him. He opens the car door. 

 

•••

 

Flint stirs into consciousness, and immediately, his eyes flash open, his hearing coming roaring back.  

 

“Yeah,” he hears from somewhere to the side, “We put him in the warehouse. He killed Mr. Hornigold- yeah.” 

 

Flint flexes his wrists, feels the zipties that pull at his skin. He catalogues his injuries. His vision’s a little blurry, but he can hear fine, and endorphins must still be running high enough so that he can’t feel anything more than a dull ache under the swollen flesh of his wrist, which he prods with his fingertips. The room spins slightly as he does so, and maybe his mind isn’t working as sharply as it should, because it takes him a suspicious amount of time to realize where he is. 

 

He’s tied on a chair in the middle of the warehouse - and Flint would laugh at the cliche, if his ribs weren’t so sore. He can’t be far from the office, and his mind, however depleted, works out that it must be one of the ones facing the river given the faint stickiness in the air. 

 

Hornigold’s henchman must hang up the phone, for then he appears in front of Flint then. Two men are stationed by the door, and based on the footprints Flint can see, trailed in from some mud, there are at least three more outside. “You’re going to tell us your agency,” the henchmen says, in his best attempt to be menacing, as Flint doesn’t even look at him. “And if you cooperate, your death will be swift.”

“I killed your boss,” Flint says after a moment. “What’s to say you won’t kill me slowly either way?” 

 

“I guess you don’t know that,” the bald man says, and really, Flint would be offended that he’s obviously thought him not enough of a threat to stand this close. “Start talking." 

 

Flint bares his bloodied teeth at him. “My husband’s coming to get me, and you won’t live past that.”

 

“Your husband-?“ the henchman gets out, before Flint’s kicking out, standing up in the chair despite the strain in his arms, and he has his calves around the man’s neck before he can blink. 

 

•••

 

Silver bursts into the warehouse as soon as he hears shots. His stomach drops, as he neatly dispatches the last man on the outside with a the piece of scrap iron pipe he’d found outside of the building - and he looks around wildly. 

 

Flint’s sitting in the middle of the warehouse, four dead or unconscious men around him. His legs are stretched out in front of him, but he’s upright, his arms tied behind him. 

 

“Heard your car broke down, baby,” Silver says, leaning heavily against the doorway and breathing hard. “Looks like you can take care of yourself, but you need a ride?” 

 

Flint’s head snaps up at his voice, but he just exhales, loud and long, rather than snark back. 

 

Silver’s at his side in an instant. “Fuck,” he says, reaching for him. “Are you hurt?” 

 

“A little,” Flint says thickly, and Silver breaks the zip ties around his wrists. "Did you take care of the others?” 

 

“It’s just us now,” Silver says. “Injuries?” 

 

Flint grunts, “Nothing that can’t be fixed.” He gets up, then, and Silver lets his hand rest slightly on his shoulder. “We need to get out of here.” 

 

“We'll find a motel,” Silver says, “Come on,” and they’re both staggering out of the warehouse, and Silver can feel Flint’s too-quick heartbeat from where they’re pressed side by side. 

 

•••

 

Silver gets them a key to one of the rooms, and Flint’s moving past him into the room as soon as he gets it unlocked. He staggers into the bathroom, and Silver puts the emergency bag on one of the beds, stripping down to his undershirt. He needs a shower, and preferably several days of extended leave, but he’ll take being alive for now. 

 

The motel is grimy but secure, and after a quick examination of the room, Silver is reasonably confident that no one’s going to think to find them here. He’s pretty sure anyone who would know their faces- or Flint’s at least- is dead now, but it’s not possible to be too safe about these things. 

 

He wants to sag onto the queen-sized bed, but he hears a clatter come from the bathroom. “Flint?” 

 

There’s a small sound, and Silver pushes open the door. He’s greeted to the sight of Flint, sprawled in the bathtub.

 

“Is now really the time for a bath?” Silver asks, and then once again he’s unaware of taking steps forward once he notices the small pool of blood in the tub- and it’s coming from Flint. “What _the fuck_ -“ 

 

“When I said earlier,” Flint says, a catch in each breath, “I was not injured. That, in fact. Was a lie. Got shot by one of the guards.” 

 

“Were you expecting a bullet hole to just heal by itself?” Silver demands, dropping down to kneel beside him. He tears open Flint’s shirt to reveal a hole in his shoulder. “Jesus Christ.” 

 

“Didn’t- didn’t think,” Flint says, and then he blinks hard as Silver presses down on the wound. “Mm."

 

“You _weren’t_ thinking,” Silver agrees savagely, reaching for a washcloth to putting hard pressure on Flint’s shoulder. There’s a short-lived wave of relief when he sees that the bleeding has mostly stopped - it must not have hit anything vital-  but a bullet wound is a bullet wound. He presses down more when more blood trickles down into the tub from Flint’s movement. “Did you not think to bring this up?”

 

Flint grunts. “That’s why I got in the tub.” 

 

“Hold this-“ Silver tells him, but Flint’s just staring up at him now, face pale under the spatters of blood Silver had assumed were the guard’s. “Come on. Only I’m allowed to put bullet holes in you, you bastard.” Flint puts his hands over Silver’s, then, pressing down. 

 

Silver nearly tears off the door in an effort to get to the emergency bag, where he knows there's a medical kit. Bringing it back into the bathroom, he starts the tub, the water running all over Flint’s feet and legs, in order to get a towel wet.

 

 “We don’t have any vodka, unlike that time in Ontario, so it’s going to be painful,” Silver says, focusing on keeping his hands steady as he starts to clean away blood and grime in an effort to see the wound. “Was it a through and through?” 

 

In response, Flint holds up a bloodied bullet, and Silver stares. “Got it already. Hurts.” His speech is slurring slightly, and Silver pours the clotting agent on the wound, vision focusing on the task at hand so he doesn’t lose it right then and there, as Flint wheezes. 

 

“One of these days, I will actually murder you,” Silver tells him, and Flint drops the bullet with a small clatter onto the tile. “Stay awake. I’m not done with you.” 

 

Flint makes some sort of noise. Silver continues, as he gets out the needle and thread, “You’re hands down the worst agent I’ve had to work with. I tell you d _on’t exit the elevator,_ and you literally do the opposite. What kind of pig-headed, brutish stupidity must be coursing through your veins-“

 

“S’ok,” Flint says, as Silver pulls the needle through. “I know you care.”

 

“I’m going to throw you out of a window as soon as I’m through with you,” Silver tells him, focusing on keeping the wound shut with each stitch, trying to hide how Flint’s words have hit him. “I’m going to undo all my hard work, and you know what? It will have been worth it.”

 

“Mm,” Flint says, and his eyes slip shut. “I had to do it. You know I did. Sorry- you had to - watch.” 

 

Silver jostles his shoulder in response, and Flint hisses through his clenched teeth. “Oh no you don't,” Silver says, “You don’t get to sleep yet. Since you apparently can’t take care of yourself, I’m going to do it, and I’m not quite done yelling at you.” 

 

“Mm,” Flint says again, and his eyes open just a little. “Clearly. Don’t want you to do damage- worse than the bullet.“ 

 

“Stay awake until I’m done,” Silver says tightly, finishing the row of stitches. "I’m going to expect a full bouquet of roses and chocolates, and you know what? I’m going to expect _groveling_. Publicly. You’re going to get down on your knees and beg for me to take you back, in front of all the neighbors. Otherwise I’m going to burn your khakis and throw them out the window at you."

 

“I love you too,” Flint mumbles, as if he’s said it a thousand times before. It’s only through the years of Silver’s training that he manages to not drop the needle. He feels something in him squeeze, as he cuts the thread, and he can’t look at Flint - he doesn’t know what he’ll do if those green eyes are watching him with any truth behind those words  - 

 

He takes a risk, and he glances up. But Flint's eyes are shut, his face relaxed as his head lolls on the edge of the tub. He’s both relieved and disappointed, and after a moment, Silver leans forward and brushes a kiss onto Flint’s bloody temple.

 

 “You idiot,” Silver says quietly. “I love you too, but you’re a real fucking arse."

 

He bandages Flint’s shoulder after tearing the rest of his shirt off, and tries to rinse off as much blood as he can get from his torso. After cranking the heat up in the room, drying out the tub and injecting Flint with antibiotics he found in the medical kit, Silver collapses on the bed. 

 

His mind is racing too much to sleep, but he stays lying down, staring at the ugly patterned wallpaper. He wonders what exactly this means. 

 

He supposes they’ll have to talk about it eventually. 


	4. Chapter 4

“It looks like someone died in here,” is the first thing that Flint says when he wakes up, and Silver is in the bathroom in an instant. It’s been half a day of Silver pacing up and down the faded carpet of the motel room, when he’s not checking Flint’s vitals, his mind distant. 

 

Flint’s staring at the blood on the tiles next to the tub, and he looks up at Silver in the doorway. “Did someone die in here?” 

 

“You nearly died in here,” Silver retorts, and the relief that courses through him makes him weak-kneed, to see Flint rubbing his face from where he’s still in the tub, looking exhausted but alert. “Blood’s a bitch to get out of tiles. It looks more than what it was.”

 

“Hmm,” Flint says. “I’m in a bathtub.” 

 

“Your powers of observation, as always, are razor-sharp,” Silver says dryly. “I bet your neck is pretty sore from sleeping in there.”

 

“It’s not bad,” Flint says, shifting his limbs reflexively. “Ah- shoulder’s- a bit worse.” 

 

Silver extends his hand. "I hear they make showers for people your age that will aid in your comfort.” 

 

“Fuck off, I got shot again,” Flint says, but he accepts Silver’s help to hoist him out of the tub. Once standing, he reels for a second, as Silver steadies him by his good arm. Flint closes his eyes, his lips thinning out, and Silver waits. 

 

When whatever it is passes, he opens them again to look directly at Silver. There are dark circles underneath, but his eyes are clearer.  “Where are we?”

 

“Far enough away,” Silver says, leading him to the bed, where Flint sinks down with a grateful sigh. He busies himself with changing Flint’s bandage. “What do you remember?” 

 

“I was in the warehouse,” Flint says after a moment, as Silver carefully peels off the bandage. “The rest- bits and pieces. You were saying something about a bouquet, I think?” Silver glances at him, but Flint’s eyes are fixed somewhere behind him. "I don't recall much more." 

 

Silver huffs, lies through his teeth. “There you go, that’s the important bit you need to know." He can feel the thrum of Flint's heartbeat under his fingertips, and so he lets himself have a greedy moment of pressing them lightly against his flesh, as if for affirmation that Flint is alive, before removing his hands. "Here, there are some protein bars that you should eat once I”m done with this."

 

While Flint crunches on the ration bars from the emergency kit, Silver puts his arm into a sling, then slides one of the spare shirts they had in the car over his torso. Without anything else to do, Silver sits down next to him on the bed. 

 

“No one’s come looking for us here.” Silver adds, somewhat unnecessarily.

 

“I think anyone who would know our faces are all dead,” Flint says finally, swallowing, as Silver ties the bandage. “Or in pretty terrible condition, otherwise.”

 

“I’m inclined to agree with you, but I wasn’t about to engage in a potential shootout with you limp in the backseat,” Silver says. "Still, we're going to lay low here for a few more hours." 

 

Flint rolls his eyes, but he’s swaying slightly now. Silver’s eyes drop to his swollen forearm. “Should I bind your wrist?” 

 

“I’m fine,” Flint says immediately, and then relents under Silver’s glare. “It hurts. But it’s just a sprain. Have you called Eleanor?”

 

“Ah,” Silver says. “That, I was not yet brave enough to attempt.” 

 

“You broke into a warehouse blindly to get me out,” Flint says, and his eyes are warm, and Silver’s traitorous heart thuds in his chest. “I think you can stand a phone call from our handler.” 

 

“Clearly, you’ve suffered some brain damage,” Silver says to that. “An angry phone call, with  _Eleanor Guthrie?_ ”

 

“Let me sleep in a real bed first,” Flint says, and five minutes after lying back, he’s out cold. Silver mutters under his breath as he tucks a pillow under his head, then pulls the blanket over him. 

 

 

•••

 

 

“I cannot begin,” Eleanor says, after a long pause, “To express how  _disappointed_  I am at the two of you right now.”

 

Silver looks over at Flint, who raises an eyebrow. “Ma’am, we did what we thought was right for the mission-” Flint says, but Eleanor just viciously cuts him off.

 

“You nearly jeopardized not just your mission, but the operations of the other agents working on taking Hornigold’s and Rogers’s company down.” She takes a deep breath in, the sound ominous. “Tell me that your covers are still intact.” 

 

“Hornigold’s dead,” Flint says. “I killed him.” 

 

“He’s in a coma, actually,” Silver corrects, and Flint turns to look at him. “What? It was on the news.” 

 

“He’s out of the picture, and Rogers is flying back in the meantime,” Eleanor says. “Until we can be absolutely sure that no one in his operation knows your face, Flint, you’re grounded.”

 

“You can’t take me out of the field,” Flint says instantly, and even Silver looks up, surprised, at the intensity of his tone. “That blows Silver’s cover, and the other agents, like you said-“

 

“Oh, you’ll be staying in the field,” Eleanor says dangerously. “You’ll be under house arrest until I explicitly say so, or you can kiss your clearances goodbye.” 

 

“Ma’am,” Flint says, looking pissed, and he gets up shakily - Silver starts to move to help him, before Flint shoots him a look and he stops - to go into the bathroom. 

 

“Agent Silver, I’m sending in another agent,” Eleanor says then. “She’ll be with the specialist who we’ve been training to crack Roger’s code on those keys.”

 

Silver sighs. “Yes, ma’am.” 

 

“Be glad I’m not replacing you as well,” Eleanor says sharply. “By sheer, dumb luck, you’ve managed not to botch this entire operation, and for that, I’m letting you stay on. Do you need any medical attention?” 

 

Silver glances towards the bathroom. “He needs someone to look at his shoulder. I’ve done what I can, but someone should really look at that. I’m fine.” 

 

“Max is on her way to you,” Eleanor says. “The agents will be in Hampstead by the end of tomorrow."

 

She hangs up, and Silver puts down the phone. “I know you’re listening,” Silver calls, “And I’ll just let you know, you do in fact need that medical attention.”  

 

Flint’s face appears through the crack in the door. “I think you’re punishing me for taking a bullet out of my own shoulder. Really, Max?” 

 

“I’m going to pay her to put a bullet right back into you,” Silver threatens. “Go take a shower. You smell awful.” 

 

Flint actually smiles before he closes the door. 

 

Silver thinks about what he had said to him. If Flint doesn’t remember, he isn’t about to bring it up. There are certain things that he knows will not go over well - and if there is one thing John Silver is good at, it’s forgetting that things ever happened. 

 

 

•••

 

Max arrives in a dark trench coat and impeccable eye makeup a few hours later. “I’ve heard you have got yourself into  some trouble,” she says. 

 

Silver opens the door more to let her in, glancing around at the mostly empty parking lot outside. She hands him her coat, which is heavier than Silver had expected, and casts a critical eye around the motel room. 

 

“It’s good to see you too,” Silver says, locking the door behind her. “Congratulations on the doctorate.” 

 

“I have far more extensive medical training than any other agent able to come to you,” Max tells him. “If you’d like, you can wait forty-eight hours for one of our doctors to fly here.” 

 

“It’s been a long day,” Silver says as a way of apology, and by the way Max nods, she accepts it, setting her bag down on the bed. “He’s got a gunshot wound in the left shoulder, dug the bullet out himself.” 

 

Flint emerges from the bathroom, and Max glances at him before looking at Silver once more. “You are the not the one who was shot, but yet you are the one who looks terrible, Agent Silver."

 

“Thank you, Max,” Silver says, only a little heat in his tone. “The patient’s the one you should probably diagnose, though.” 

 

“Thank you for coming,” Flint says, looking away from Silver, and Max turns to face him fully. “We appreciate you coming here.” 

 

“It is no problem,” Max says, and she tilts her head to the bed. “Please sit down. I’m sure you have shortened Agent Silver’s life, here, these past few days.” 

 

Flint grimaces as he unbuttons his shirt so that she can peel back the makeshift bandage Silver had put on after the shower. “It’s been less than ideal.” 

 

As Max examines his shoulder, cleaning it carefully and redoing the stitches- “They’re not that bad,” Silver says defensively, as Max makes another displeased noise - Flint’s eyes are on Silver the entire time. Not looking away from Flint, Silver asks,  “Do you know who’s assigned to back us up?”

 

‘I do not,” Max says, her eyes intent on the bandage. Something in her mouth twists. “Eleanor did not feel it was necessary information.” 

 

Before Silver can ask about that, there are two sharp knocks on the door. He's up, drawing his gun and inching towards it. Flint half-rises from the bed, but then grunts when Max pushes on his chest, forcing him back down. “Agent Silver, please do not shoot my girlfriend,” Max says. “Open the door.” 

 

“Girlfriend,” Flint repeats, as Silver looks through the peephole.

 

“Max- are you quite sure?” Silver asks. 

 

“Yes,” Max says. “Red hair, looks as sullen as Agent Flint here?”

 

“Hey-” Flint says, as Silver opens the door to reveal one Ms. Walton.

 

“I have a suspicion,” Silver says to the woman, “That you are not in fact the grown daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Walton down the street, come back after your time teaching English in Tokyo.” 

 

“This is Anne,” Max says, injecting something into Flint’s arm. “Anne, Agents Silver and Flint.” 

 

"The Barlows," Anne says. "Your potato salad was shit the other night." 

 

“Agent Bonny,” Flint says then, and Ms. Walton- Anne-  looks past Silver. “I’m glad to put a face to the name.” 

 

Anne nods once, pushing by Silver easily to sit in the vacated chair across from Flint and Max. “Flint. Heard you took a bullet.” 

 

“I’ve had worse,” Flint says, while Silver’s gaping at him. “How was Bucharest?” 

 

“Easy op,” Anne says in response, and both she and Flint fall silent. Max continues bandaging Flint’s shoulder, a quirk to her mouth. 

 

“I-“ Silver starts, then he stops, at a rare loss of words. 

 

“The Waltons are retired agents,” Max supplies, when Silver turns to look at her. “They helped to establish Anne’s cover, but they are technically off duty.”

 

Silver runs a hand over his face. “I knew you looked just a bit too serious to be at that potluck.” 

 

“I don’t like undercover,” Anne says, and shares a silent, mutually understanding look with Flint. _Christ_ , Silver thinks to himself, _they could be twins_. 

 

“The fuck’s the matter with him?” Anne asks Flint, jerking her head in Silver’s direction, and really, Max looks too amused. 

 

“He’s had a rough few days,” Flint says, glancing over at him. Silver turns, annoyed, to look at where Max is fixing the bandage. 

 

“You’re the one who got _shot_ ,” he bites back, but something inside him goes warm at the fond, exasperated look he sees Flint give him.

 

•••

 

Max bandages Flint’s wrist too, putting his arm into a sling that’s carefully padded against his shoulder - Silver makes certain of it. When she rises to leave, so does Anne. “I won’t have you lie to me by telling me that you’ll take it easy,” Max tells him, “But if you rip out these stitches, Silver will have to be the one to put them back in.”

 

“In that case, I have a vacation to look forward to,” Flint says, and Silver gives him a dirty look. “Thank you, Max.”

 

“Take care, agents,” Max tells them both, tossing a packet of pain medication to Silver before tying her coat around her, and she walks out of the motel room trailed by Anne. 

 

In their absence, they're quiet, as Flint shrugs back on his shirt. “We can head back, if you’re feeling up to it,” Silver says. “Eleanor gave us the all-clear.” 

 

“It’ll be nice to sleep in a familiar bed,” Flint says agreeably, but that might be in part due to the fact that Max had given him plenty of morphine before she had left. “Can you drive?” 

 

“ _Can I_ \- of course I’m going to fucking drive. You’d probably hurl us off a cliff if I let you get behind the wheel. Exactly how many drugs did she give you?” 

 

Flint shrugs, and his face does look far more relaxed than usual. “Enough to fire a gun, not enough to hold a snake.”

 

“I’m going to assume that’s some strange scale in your head,” Silver says, “Absolutely nothing to do with your actual experiences. Come on, let’s get in the car. I'll put on a public radio station before you get fussy.” 

 

•••

 

As the sun sets in the distance, some of the morphine wears off, and lines appear in Flint’s forehead once more. Silver keeps an eye on him in the passenger seat, where Flint’s looking out the front window with a faraway look in his eyes, one that has nothing to do with any medication. 

 

“If you’re wondering if we’re driving right into a trap, I gave Anne the emergency number and asked her to drive by the house,” Silver says. “She’ll call us if anything seems off."

 

“That’s not what I’m thinking about,” Flint says. “I wanted to apologize.”

 

 Silver resists the urge to slam on the brakes. “If it’s for making me scrub the blood of those tiles, that requires only a  promise to at least try not to bleed like that in front of me ever again. “

 

“No,” Flint says, and Silver looks over fully to see his serious expression. “I mean it. You were right, I should have gotten out of that elevator. If I had been killed-“

 

“Now hang on,” Silver starts, but Flint continues calmly. 

 

“If I had been killed by Hornigold, it would have raised a lot of problems for you and the other agents. It was a risk I took without considering the effect that it might have had on the operation,” Flint says. “The effect it might have on you - your ability to continue this mission.” 

 

Silver feels his jaw clench. “That’s not my problem with you running headfirst into possible death,” he says tightly, then he adds quickly, “You have a real husband, a life outside of the agency. If not for the operation, please think about that.”

 

There’s a pause, as Flint seems to consider. those words. “When I first met my husband,” he says, “I was in the Navy. When I made the transition to the agency, he was the one who convinced me to take the final step to become an agent.” 

 

“You didn’t want to be an agent?” Silver asks curiously.

 

“I didn’t want to put that burden on him,” Flint says, his tone wry. “I didn’t want to disappear for weeks on end from him - and I didn’t want the chance that one day, I would come back to him in a body bag. But he told me that he would rather be worried about me doing this job, trying to do some good in this world, than worry about what sort of life I might regret if I didn’t take the job.”

 

“He knows you very well,” Silver says softly.

 

Flint nods. “He does,” he says, then surprisingly, he says, “I think he would like you very much.”

 

Silver breathes in, out, but Flint seems to go back to that thoughtful mood. They both sit in silence as they continue down the highway, Silver’s fingers drumming the wheel the entire time. 

 

“You know what I think,” Silver says, as they’re getting close, ignoring the twist in his stomach, “After all this, you should take a nice, long beach vacation with him. Use some of those airline points up for carefree fun in the sun. Get hideously sunburned and moan around for a few days. I’m sure your Thomas would love that.” 

 

Flint laughs quietly.  “I owe him that at the very least,” he says. “Although he’s always been more of a museum visitor than a beach goer. Your turn’s here.” 

 

“I remember the turn, I have some of my memory left, unlike you,” Silver says, as he makes the exit to their neighborhood, and then they pull up to the house. “Look, there’s the car. That’ll be the agents.”

 

“I’m going to go up to the flat,” Flint says. “You knock on that door, make introductions for me. I know that’s what you love to do.”

 

“My husband knows me so well,” Silver says, turning off the car, and they part at the bottom of the stairs.

 

Silver knocks on the door, hears muffled movement. “This is your upstairs neighbor,” he says, remembering the code phrase. “I just saw your green car outside, and while I don’t have a gift basket for you yet, I wanted to welcome you to this lovely neighborhood.” 

 

The door opens, and Silver is stunned for a moment, before he can feel the wide grin split his face at the familiar face.

 

“Well, if you’re going to get me a basket,” Madi says, letting him stepping into the apartment, and Silver wraps his arms around her.

 

“I learned a short time ago that I was to be assigned here,” Madi says warmly, and Silver smiles into her neck, hugging her tighter as the door closes behind them. “Not quite a vacation spot, but it seems we did get that reunion.” 

 

“Can’t beat the company,” Silver says, and he lets her go so that he can step into the apartment. “You- I missed you.”

 

“I missed you too,” Madi says, reaching up to tug at a curl of his hair, and he leans down to kiss her, before she’s smiling against his lips and pulling back again. “You need a haircut.” 

 

“Longer hair suits me, I’m a happy suburban husband now,” he says, heart fluttering as it always does when she’s near him. “You look as gorgeous as ever.” 

 

Madi laughs, and Silver’s heart thuds even more at the thought of her here- _Madi meeting Flint, she has to meet Flint - “_ I too am a happy suburban wife."

 

“Ah,” Silver says. “That’s right. Your husband around?”

 

“I’m here,” an unfamiliar voice says, and a tall, blond man steps out from the dining room. “You must be John.” 

 

“John Silver,” Silver says in return, “Although it’s John Barlow outside of these walls. You are-?"

 

“Thomas,” the man introduces himself, shaking Silver’s hand. He’s got bright blue eyes that are vaguely familiar, but perhaps that’s just his kind-looking face, unremarkable except for the way that he’s studying Silver where he stands, already. “Thomas Hamilton, otherwise known as Mr. Williams.” 

 

“You’re the specialist,” Silver says, glancing over to Madi for confirmation. She nods. “Well, you’ve got the best agent around to help us and to make sure you stay safe, so I have no doubt this will be over quite soon.” 

 

“Thomas and I arrived earlier today, we expected to meet both you and your own husband,” Madi says. “I heard your partner was injured?”

 

“Unsanctioned mission went awry,” Silver says, trying not to recall Flint’s pale face in that warehouse. “He got shot, but he’s doing better now. Confined to the flat by orders from Eleanor, so I have no doubt you’ll be hearing him smashing plates and the like during the day.” 

 

“I can’t wait to meet him,” Madi says, reaching out to squeeze his arm with a private smile. Silver smiles back at her, and then there’s a knock at the door. 

 

“Well,” Silver says, “That’ll be him, probably."

 

Madi steps away from the door, and Silver opens the door ever so slightly until he sees Flint on the other side. He throws the door open, then. “Husband, come meet the new neighbors,“ Silver says grandly, and Flint’s annoyed eyes go over his shoulder, where they grow impossibly wide. 

 

“Thomas,” Flint chokes out, and Silver turns back to see the specialist’s mouth part, from where he’s staring right back at Flint. 

 

Madi says, “Thomas, do you-“

 

“That’s my husband,” Thomas says shakily, and Silver slowly turns back to look at Flint, who takes a step inside the apartment. “James,"

 

“Husband- oh,” Silver says, bewilderment turning to realization and twisting into something else. “ _Oh.”_

 

“Excuse me- you were _shot?_ ” Thomas asks suddenly, accusing, and Flint laughs brightly despite it, his eyes still fixed on Thomas’s face like the sun itself has descended from the sky and come into this room, and Silver - Silver squashes down the surprising surge of jealousy that comes up, as he steps aside, lets Flint come closer to Thomas. 

 

“Lightly,” Flint says. “I was _lightly_ shot."

 

“No such thing,” Thomas says, his voice thick, and then he’s pulling Flint into an embrace, all the while mindful of Flint’s sling. Flint buries his face in the taller man’s neck, and when Thomas presses a long kiss on the top of Flint’s head, both of them clinging onto each other, Silver turns away.

 

Madi’s looking at him, and he doesn’t want to see the pity there, so he tries to sound light as he forces out, “Care to show me around?” 

 

Madi continues to watch him, but she decides to be merciful. “You’ll love the hideous carpeting in the bedroom,” she says, and Silver doesn’t look at Flint or Thomas when he follows her out, leaving them alone. 

 

•••

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> akjsdkjs thank you for all the kind comments ❤︎  
> (credit to brooklyn 99 for that one line lmao)


	5. Chapter 5

“You’re right,” Silver says after some time. “The carpeting in here is truly hideous.”

 

He’s sitting on the floor, his back against the side of the king sized mattress. Madi had taken one look at his face once they were alone - she could always see right through him - and had told him to sit down while she changed, closing the door behind them and making sure the curtains were drawn.

 

She’s sitting next to him in more comfortable clothes now, her shorter legs pressed against his. She taps his shin with her foot.

 

“I want you to know,” Madi says, carefully, “I did not know that Flint’s husband was to be the specialist. I would have said something to you."

 

Silver tilts his head back. “But even if you had, I couldn’t ask that of you, especially since Eleanor was so careful to keep his identity secret.”

 

He can’t keep the bitterness out of his voice, and Madi leans her head back as well. “I have known Eleanor for many years. If she had known-“

 

“She knows,” Silver says, swallowing his anger. “Flint has known her for years, but I’m to believe she’s never met his husband? I have to say, I am surprised that she weighed the risk of having his actual husband in the field with him and came out with this. He must be very skilled to override that."

 

She stills beside him. “I know your feelings might be complicated, but Thomas is a good man-“

 

“I don’t _blame_ him,” Silver says, sitting up. “Look at me. I’m not- I wouldn’t do that.” Madi meets his eye. “Truly. I’m worried that he’ll make some rookie mistake, or that it’ll be too difficult for the two of them to keep up the cover, but I don’t have any- I respect his position here."

 

“All right,” Madi says, letting her head rest on the edge of the mattress once again. “I believe you.”

 

Silver pauses. “What do you mean, my feelings might be complicated?”

 

“Your relationship with Flint, it’s gone past the point of a cover, hasn’t it?” Madi says, and she turns her head to meet Silver’s. “I know this. But I don’t understand-"

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Silver says on reflex, attempting to level a smile at her in apology for cutting her off, but Madi continues looking at him, waiting for him to stop. 

 

“Just now, you did not mention for a moment the very real possibility of Flint or his husband choosing the other one over this mission. There are some things that even the best agent will not heed - Flint included. That didn’t make you pause at all, and I think that’s because you know that feeling.” 

 

“I don’t,” Silver starts, then bites his own tongue in frustration. “I don’t know. I got scared, and I- I don’t know if that’s something I feel for him, or if it’s just some sort of reaction.” 

 

“I think you do know,” Madi says, “I think you’re your own worst enemy in this.” 

 

“I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t know what you want me to say to that.” 

 

“John, you should know by now that you don’t have to lie to me,” Madi says, and then adds with a wry expression, “You also should know that you _can’t_ lie to me. You have feelings for him, do you not?”

 

Silver turns to look at the patterned carpet once again, but his silence proves to be more telling, given Madi’s sigh. She says, “You do. But what is it?”

 

“I indicated my feelings, and he did not feel the same way,” Silver replies, smoothly, practiced. “That’s it. We can still work together on this case, and nothing has been compromised.” 

 

“I don’t doubt that,” Madi says softly, and after a moment, she leans her head on his shoulder. “When you want to talk about it- we’ll talk.” 

 

Silver turns his head so that he press a kiss into her hair rather than reply. 

 

•••

 

After the glowing feeling of surprise that Thomas is _here_ , here with him now, has faded just enough so that Flint can think more clearly, Thomas leads him to the couch. They’ve been separated for far longer than a few weeks in the past, but seeing Thomas again, whether it’s been a day or a year since they’ve last been together, still fills him with a hazy thrill.

 

“You’ve grown a beard,” Thomas says after a moment, and Flint silences a chuckle into his neck. “But you’re wearing your khakis, so some things don’t change.“ 

 

“I was going to shave it off before the next time I saw you,” Flint says. “Did you lose weight? Is something wrong-"

 

“I’m not the one who got _shot,_ so I think I get to worry first,” Thomas says in return, moving back without letting go of him entirely, and Flint can comply with this. “Come on, let’s sit, God, you have another bullet hole in you-“ 

 

Thomas holds out a hand to Flint’s back as he sits on the couch, as if to steady him, and Flint feels a rush of fondness come over him at the gesture Thomas hadn’t even realized. 

 

 Thomas speaks first when they’ve both sat down. “The person who shot you-“

“Dead,” Flint says, then winces at his abruptness. “Thomas - what are you doing here?” 

 

“I’ve been assigned to work this case to assist in breaking the code for Rogers’s encryption system,” Thomas says. “I didn’t expect to see you here."

 

“You-“ Flint starts, then cuts himself off. “You’re the _specialist_. How- why you?”

 

“Several weeks ago, just after you left, I received a phone call,” Thomas tells him. “The agency needed someone with expert experience in classical languages, and the flexibility to accept this temporary job. I think they liked the fact that I did some boxing in uni as well, truth be told."

 

“I think you might have glossed over that somehow,” Flint says, and he ruthlessly pushes aside the image of Thomas sweating in a boxing ring - although later they _are most definitely going to talk about that_ , because that is an image he needs to see in person _-_ and he refocuses on the point at hand. 

 

“Now you talk,” Thomas says. “What happened?” 

 

Flint is confused for a moment- then he remembers the sling that Thomas’s eyes are back to being fixed on. “Oh, this.”

 

“Yes, _this_ ,” Thomas says, a line appearing between his eyebrows, and he reaches out to trace Flint’s collarbone. “Are you all right?” 

 

“I misjudged the distance between a man and his gun, managed to take him out in the end,” Flint says, somewhat sheepishly under Thomas’s touch. "It’ll heal quickly, with likely very little damage.” 

 

He’s been around Silver too long, who’s used to things like getting shot at, he remembers, as he watches Thomas’s eyes darken. “Oh, I think enough damage has been done,” the man mutters, fingers now brushing over the dark bruise that’s escaping from the edge of Flint’s collar, his touch gentle even as he frowns. “Did you go to the hospital?” 

 

“I had someone see me,” Flint says, and then tries to deflect. “What about your job? You can’t tell me the university just approved a sudden leave. Why did you agree?” 

 

“I took a long-overdue sabbatical,” Thomas says, pulling back his hand. “I managed to get the grad students all set up in my absence, our affairs in order. Ms. Guthrie promised me that once the case was done, I could have access to the agency’s storage of confiscated antiquities. Once this is done, I’m out.”

 

He looks down, then, and Flint watches the twitch of his fingers on his lap. “I suppose there’s some selfish reason I took the job too. I want to make some difference in the world, and this job - well, I was convinced that it had some merit, that my skills could be useful in the real world, and I  couldn’t resist.” 

 

“You’re an incredible professor who changes the lives of all his students,” Flint says instantly, and Thomas smiles at him. “You don’t need this to prove anything- and you have nothing to prove, otherwise.”

 

“But if I’m the only one who could help you in this, wouldn’t that be worth everything?” Thomas returns. "To keep people safe, isn’t that the most honorable cause?” 

 

“This life is thankless,” Flint tries. “Even if you’re only involved in this one case, it’s dangerous work, and I refuse to put you in harm’s way. This mission can be damned-“ 

 

“They put me through some training _,_ you know-“ 

 

_“_ Nowhere near enough if it’s only been a few weeks,” Flint says harshly. “Thomas- for all purposes, I’m married to someone else right now, I- I can’t be your husband. You can’t tell me that sits right with you.” 

 

“James,” Thomas says placatingly, reaching out to cup his face, and Flint leans into it despite the fact he should be arguing more, coming up with some way to convince Thomas to leave this mission.  “I have some of the best agents in the world around me. I get to see you doing what is important to you, and when this is over, I’ll have my husband back again.” He strokes Flint’s jaw, and despite his years of training, Flint feels his resolve slip away. “That, I think, sits perfectly right with me.” 

 

“I hate that you’re so close to convincing me,” Flint says with a groan, and he can feel the drag of Thomas’s thumb over his stubble, a much-missed touch. “Has Agent Scott been teaching you methods of persuasion, I wonder?” 

 

“Maybe I just know exactly how you need to be convinced,” Thomas says teasingly, and Flint tilts his head so that he can kiss the veins on the inside of Thomas’s wrist. “Besides, I don’t think this life is entirely thankless, as you say.” 

 

Before Flint can process that, a door opens from behind them, and Thomas gets up to meet Silver coming out of the bedroom. 

 

“Agent Silver, it’s an honor to meet the man who’s been keeping my husband safe,” Thomas says with the slightest quirk to his mouth, as Madi appears from the bedroom as well. He holds out his hand. 

 

Flint watches as Silver shakes his hand, looking somewhat bemused, but then a smirk quickly grows on his face. “It’s an honor to meet my fake husband’s actual husband,” he says, and Thomas laughs. 

 

“I think we’re going to get on quite well,” Thomas says, turning back to meet Flint’s eyes, and he winks. Flint chokes. 

 

“As much as I’d love to continue seeing you both,” Madi says then, eyes flickering from Thomas and Silver to Flint, “I think that you two should return to the upstairs flat."

 

Thomas nods in agreement, and he turns back just as Flint’s getting up from the couch. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Thomas says, “I might need to borrow a cup of sugar, I think,” and Flint kisses him in response.

 

“Bring your boxing gloves, Mr. Hamilton,” he says, just to see Thomas’s eyes crinkle, and then he’s stepping back to the door.

 

Silver is looking at him when he turns back, and there’s something in his eyes - but before Flint can decipher anything, Silver is distracted by Madi, who squeezes his hand. “Tomorrow,” she says, looking past Silver at Flint. “Be careful with that shoulder, Agent Flint.” 

 

•••

 

He expects to feel something torn away when he closes the door on Thomas and Madi, but instead, he finds himself oddly hopeful as he turns to look at Silver, who’s watching him already. “I think I can go up some stairs without injuring myself,” Flint says, in case Silver’s waiting to help him up the stairs. 

 

“I think we’ve both learned that when I don’t keep an eye on you, you do more reckless things than either of us would care for,” Silver says, heading up the stairs. “I was going to say it must be nice to have him down there.” 

 

“It is,” Flint says. 

 

"You must be scared shitless, but, still. Nice."

 

Flint looks at the line of his back as they round the top of the steps, Silver pulling out the key to their door. “Obviously,” he says. “But it’s good that he had us here, in case something were to happen.”

 

“He’ll be practically pampered with the world’s most protective bodyguard,” Silver says cheekily, opening their front door. “God, I never thought I’d say it, but it’s good to be back.” 

 

Flint breathes in the familiar scent of the flat as he steps inside, sees the blanket thrown over the back of the couch like it was when they left, and it’s some comfort. 

 

“How’s your arm now?” Silver asks, then, and Flint lets himself feel the dull ache of it now, something that had been  temporarily abated when he had seen Thomas downstairs. 

 

“It hurts,” Flint says. “But it’s manageable. I think I’ll try to catch an early night of sleep.”

 

“I’ll be sure to set up the telly to record your terrible television programs,” Silver says, tossing the keys into the bowl. “I’ll be in in a moment. Max said I have to wake you up every few hours.” 

 

Flint gets to the bathroom, manages to splash his face with water and brush his teeth one-handed. He realizes that he’s stuck in terms of getting off his shirt after unbuttoning most of the buttons - until Silver comes in, sees him sitting there on the bed.

 

He huffs. “You need to learn how to ask for help,” Silver says, kneeling down so that he’s on the ground in front of him unfastening the rest of the buttons. “Lift your arm a little."

 

Flint obliges, as Silver carefully slides the shirt off of him. He focuses on Silver’s hairline, where the dark curls start. “Agent Scott seems agreeable,” he says, and Silver’s forehead bunches a little when he laughs. 

 

“You should call her Madi. If there’s someone that I would choose to protect your husband in this world other than you or I, it would be her.” Silver stands up, taking Flint’s shirt from him. “Should I change that bandage?” 

 

“I’ll be fine,” Flint says, swinging his legs onto the bed. “I know you both are- friends.” 

 

“We are that and more,” Silver says. “In another life, I’d probably be married to her, and we’d have a nice bed and breakfast. Alas, we both enjoy espionage just a little too much.” He disappears into the bathroom, and Flint can hear him brushing his teeth.

 

“Ah,” Flint says, leaning forward a little so he can pull a pillow to support his head more. “The bed and breakfast aren’t in the cards, even for the future?” 

 

He can hear the water running, then Silver spitting. He reappears in the doorway. “I try not to make future plans,” Silver says. “They always have a way of going awry, and I’ve always been of a mind to assume the future is something not be, well, assumed.” 

 

“Not everything,” Flint says automatically. He thinks of the day he met Thomas, and he had known, somehow, that that was the man he was going to spend the rest of his life with. “Some things are inevitable.” 

 

 Silver gets into bed beside him, Flint lifting his legs to let him pull the sheets to get underneath them, and he reaches over Flint to switch off the lamp. 

 

“What do you think of him?” Flint says as Silver rolls over like he usually does, to go onto his stomach.  

 

“Thomas?” Flint can feel Silver shift slightly. “He’s taller than I expected. I didn’t really get the chance to meet him."

 

“You meet people and have them down within thirty seconds,” Flint says. “Go on, what do you think?” 

 

“What I think of him?” Silver says in reply, and Flint can’t see his expression in the dark. “He seems- kind. More alive? I honestly don’t know where you want me to go with this. Are you trying to recreate some sort of after-school sleepover here?"

 

“It’s nothing,” Flint says, staring up at the ceiling. “I just was wondering. You wanted to know a lot about him, before.” 

 

Silver’s quiet for a long time, enough so that Flint thinks he’s gone to sleep. “You look happy together,” Silver says, and there’s another, shorter pause before he says, “It’s good to see you happy.” 

 

That makes Flint’s eyes open, and he turns his head ever so slightly, as if to meet Silver’s eyes, but it’s too dark in the room. Before long, he can hear Silver’s breathing even out, and Flint falls asleep with his head tilted towards Silver. 

 

 

•••

 

 

The next morning, Flint unsurprisingly elects to stay in bed for a while longer when the alarm goes off, and Silver resolves to make him take a dose of morphine when he gets back. He goes out to water the flowers out front, which are only a little limp in their absence of his care. The weekend morning is quiet, but Silver hears the footsteps coming all the same. 

 

“John!” Silver turns, and Mr. Brown is tottering towards him, stopping just a few inches too close. “We saw your car this morning. We were so concerned when you and James weren't around-“

 

“We got into a car accident,” Silver tells him, tilting the watering can more, making it appear accidental when Mr. Brown has to take a step back to avoid getting his shoes wet. “So sorry for any concern. I made it out all right, but James broke his arm, so we spent a night at the hospital.” 

 

“Oh dear!” the portly man says. “I hope he recovers quickly. We’ll have to send over a basket right away, when we put together one for the new neighbors."

 

“You don’t have to,” Silver says in an effort to appear humble, and Mr. Brown insists. He demurs after a few practiced turns, wondering if it’s too much to push for those chocolate biscuits. 

 

Once Mr. Brown has left him, Silver sets down the watering pot. He’s about to head inside when there’s a polite cough at the door. 

 

Silver’s hand flinches towards his hip before he remembers that he’s not carrying a gun, and he recognizes the figure standing on the porch. “You get up early.” 

 

Thomas tilts his head at him, holding a mug. “It’s eight in the morning."

 

Silver jerks his chin up. “I’m used to that old man. He sleeps until I have to go in and wake him up most weekends.” 

 

Thomas’s eyes flick back and forth, making sure they’re alone. “He used to be an early riser when he was in the Navy. Now he just claims to be, but I think he’s catching up on his sleep after all these years,” he says with a hint of a smile. 

 

He's trying to be accommodating for the understandably strange conditions that he’s been submerged in, Silver knows this, but still something inside him bristles at his words, at the assumed familiarity. “Where’s Madi?” he asks. 

 

“She went out for a run half an hour ago,” Thomas says. “Care to join me?"

 

Silver sits down one one of the comfortable-looking rockers, letting his feet prop up on the side railing. Thomas takes a seat on the swinging bench, drinking his tea, and they sit in silence. 

 

There’s a strange itching under Silver’s skin, growing the more they sit there. Thomas is staring sedately out across the street, seemingly unbothered. 

 

“Jealousy can’t get in the way of this op,” Silver says finally because he might as well stop avoiding it. “I need to know now that you’ll tell me if it becomes a problem.” 

 

“Is that right,” Thomas says, his face partially obscured by the mug as he blows on the hot liquid. “What makes you think that this will be an issue?” 

 

“Surely you're not that ignorant,” Silver says, annoyed at the way Thomas keeps on looking down the street.  “Seeing your husband pretend to play house with another man, even if you know it’s a story, it’s going to eat away at you in one way or another. I’ve seen and heard of undercover missions that have gone awry for far less. Your undoubtedly superior skills aside, Eleanor can always find a replacement if it’s going to interfere with the mission.” 

 

Thomas turns to look directly back at him, and Silver realizes he’s underestimated the amount of steel that’s in his gaze, as the other man levels a look at him. “I don’t appreciate the insinuation, John, that I would put James - or any of you - in harm’s way for something as inane as jealousy.” 

 

“This isn’t personal,” Silver says, then lowers his voice even more. “It’s not _inane_ , it’s something that needs to be addressed-"

 

“Are you jealous of Madi and I pretending to be married?” Thomas says then, and Silver frowns. 

 

“Of course not-"

 

“You have a long-standing romantic attachment to her, do you not?” Thomas asks. 

 

“Yes, but it’s not the same,” Silver says impatiently. “Madi and I are seasoned operatives-“ 

 

“I don’t own James,” Thomas says then, turning his mug in his hands. “I trust his judgment. Do you trust him?”

 

“I do,” Silver says, his legs sliding down off from the railing. “What are you getting at?” 

 

“Your accusations run both ways,” Thomas says calmly. “Will you ask James, next, if his jealousy will get in the way? If he would let something affect his work? It’s a fair question.” 

 

“How dare you,” Silver hisses, and now he sits up, as Thomas sets down his mug on his knee. “You don’t get to come in here, think that because you’re married to him, you get to undermine this- not when he’s constantly on the edge, worried he’s going to make some mistake, and even more so with you here to take care of now.”  

 

“ _Undermine-"_

 

Silver leans in close, lets his voice pitch low. “Know this,” he warns, “If we want this mission to succeed, we need him to work _at his best_ , and you’re not ever going to suggest to me again that he would _ever_ not do what’s the best for this. I trust him, but do you?” 

 

He doesn’t break eye contact, nor does Thomas. He's preparing for Thomas to shout, storm away, anything - but instead, Thomas picks up his mug once again. Something in his face shifts, the indignation rapidly disappearing, and Silver’s beginning to realize that Thomas Hamilton is not the simple academic that he had first pegged him for. “He told me about you, before he left,” Thomas says, and Silver blinks, his own anger evaporating in surprise. 

 

“What?” 

 

“Not all kind things, grant you, but he never once questioned your ability to get the job done, or your integrity.” Thomas lets another small smile grow on his face, as Silver watches him come to some sort of realization. “I’m glad that runs both ways, and I have to say, you do not disappoint, Agent Silver.” 

 

Silver stays still as Thomas stands up, then, and he turns his head just as Madi jogs up the driveway. She’s wearing a loose tank top and leggings, and normally, Silver would be taking full advantage of that view, but now he’s stuck glaring at Thomas. 

 

“Good morning,” Madi says, and puts an arm lightly around Thomas’s waist. “Did you sleep well?” 

 

“I think so,” Thomas says, contemplative as he looks at Silver. “I’m still getting used to the place, I’m afraid, but it’s better now.” 

 

She looks over at Silver, then, who meets her eyes instead. “Is everything all right?” 

 

Silver glances back at Thomas, who raises an eyebrow. “Yes,” Silver says, slowly, and watches Thomas’s shoulders relax. “Yes, it’s all right.”  

 

 

•••

 

 

Flint spends the day on their couch, as Silver works at the kitchen island. Silver had made him take another dose of painkillers that morning, which admittedly had reduced the ache in his shoulder. But now it's wearing off, and he feels antsy listening to Silver mutter as he types. 

 

“All right, if I have to listen to you, I might as well help,” Flint says, shutting his book when Silver lets out a particularly vicious curse. “I didn’t get shot in the head.” 

 

“Thomas and Madi are working on the intel right now, but I’m trying to figure out why Hornigold was there at the office in the first place,” Silver says. “I got into his system, but there’s an overload of emails and messages to go through - we don’t know if someone tipped him off, or if it was a coincidence, or anything.”

 

“You think that there’s a leak?” Flint asks. “Could we have been tapped?” 

 

“Unlikely,” Silver says, and he scrubs a hand over his face. “It’s not complicated work, there’s just a lot of it. I was able to get in before his files were wiped, at least, but it’s a bit overwhelming.” 

 

“Try to focus on Hornigold’s communication with his assistants, secretaries and the like,” Flint says. “Since we can’t get anything from his communications with Rogers, those might give us knowledge first."

 

There’s a knock at the door, then, and Flint sits up. 

 

“No,” Silver tells him, already up and moving towards the door, holding the laptop as he answers it.  Flint glowers at the back of his head.

 

“I can move, you know,” Flint says bitterly, as Thomas and Madi walk in. “Hello. “

 

“You look rather fed up,” Thomas says as he goes to the couch, leaning down to kiss him. Flint accepts the kiss, but glares at him too. 

 

“I could’ve helped out today with the decryption at least-“

 

“I believe you were under strict orders not to reopen any stitches,” Thomas says innocently before he comes around the couch to sit on the armrest next to him. “That means bedrest. You didn’t tell me you had a concussion, either.” 

 

“I can walk up and down _stairs_ -“ 

 

“You really can’t,” Silver says. “Need a glass of water? You should take your antibiotics." 

 

“I’ll get it,” Madi says, going by Silver to the cabinets to fetch one. 

 

“You’re all treating me like a child,” Flint says. “I’ve been in the Navy. I’m older than all of you. I’ve shot people-“ 

 

“Shh, you’re very brave,” Silver tells him, as Madi brings Flint a glass of water and the pill bottle. He takes the dose, only slightly mollified by Thomas’s fingers massaging his scalp. 

 

“Hello, Silver,” Thomas says. “Has he been like this all day?” 

 

“Hamilton,” Silver says in return, setting down the laptop on the coffee table. “And yes. He made it to the door when I was distracted with the files you sent me earlier. Thought he’d make a break for it.” 

 

“I’m not under _house arrest_ here, you know." 

 

“I brought up the basket those neighbors delivered for you both,” Madi says, putting the two baskets on the counter. “You said something about chocolate biscuits?” 

 

“I’ll trade you the scones for yours,” Silver says immediately, reaching for one of the wicker monstrosities. “The Browns have really outdone themselves on these.” 

 

“The scones and the raspberry preserves,” Madi counters. 

 

“You drive a hard bargain,” Silver says, “But luckily, with your gorgeous face, I’m inclined to agree.” 

 

“Stop flirting and hand me a scone,” Flint says from the couch. Silver lobs it as his head, and Thomas catches it before Flint can try to move his injured shoulder to do so. 

 

“You’re a jealous husband, you know?” 

 

“Quit treating me like glass,” Flint snaps, even as he accepts the scone. “How’s the progress on Rogers’s key?” 

 

“John was very clear that we are to limit such talk for tonight,” Madi says. “But I will tell you that Thomas has made some progress with the notes recovered in Rogers’s home. He thinks they might be instructions of a sort.” 

 

“It seems to be a nonsensical combination of languages,” Thomas says, looking rather excited at the prospect, “Used in order to make translation difficult. Perhaps something akin to Aramaic, some sort of dialect-“ 

 

“Concussion,” Silver reminds them, and Flint rolls his eyes. “No work tonight.” 

 

“Your fake husband is rather strict,” Thomas says.

 

Silver points at the two of them. “You’re saying this like it was my idea. Neither of you can fool me, especially you, Hamilton.” 

 

Instead of wondering when exactly Silver and Thomas had developed some sort of rapport, Flint says, “Silver, would you go out and refuel the car?” 

 

Silver narrows his eyes. “Why?” 

 

“Madi will need the car tomorrow to continue surveilling Rogers’s office. If you like, I could go out-“

 

“And blow your cover, go against Eleanor Guthrie’s orders once again?” Silver asks with a scoff, already tugging on his trainers. "I like when we’re both alive.” He stops at the door. “Madi, do make sure he doesn’t put any sort of force on that shoulder. He owes me a knife throwing rematch contest when he’s healed, and if he fucks up that arm, my victory won’t taste as sweet.” 

 

“Of course,” Madi says. 

 

“I will too,” Thomas adds. 

 

“Please,” Silver says, “I know that you’re wrapped around his finger. I’m trying to find a somewhat unbiased third party to enforce that.” 

 

 

•••

 

 

He picks up some milk from the store while he’s out, and chats aimlessly with the cashier at the petrol station while the car fills up. Silver absent-mindedly makes a note to himself that he should cut the lawn tomorrow before the rain hits. 

 

“Evening, Mr. Barlow,” Wally, one of their neighbors on the other side, says as Silver gets out of the car. “Saw the Williams head up to your flat earlier. Having them over for dinner?” 

 

“Yes, just getting to know our new neighbors,” Silver says. “Those rose bushes are looking quite spectacular.” 

 

“It’s the one thing Mabel lets me do,” Wally says, and both he and Silver laugh as if on cue. Silver lets the grimace slide onto his face once Wally turns back around. 

 

Grappling with the grocery bag, Silver opens the apartment door just in time to see Madi’s foot connect with the side of Thomas’s head. 

 

“Um,” Silver says, as Thomas staggers to the side. 

 

“Next time, catch her foot to try to knock her off balance,” Flint suggests, from the couch, now pushed against the wall, as if Silver hadn’t even opened the door to- whatever this is. 

 

“Did you get milk?” Thomas asks, turning to Silver, and Madi adjusts the tie on her bun. They’re both shoeless, and there’s a layer of sweat on Thomas’s forehead from exertion. The furniture’s all been pushed to the sides to create a open space in the center, save the couch that’s there so Flint can observe apparently. Even the carpet’s been rolled up so that the hardwood floor is exposed. 

 

“Hang on,” Silver says then, “I was gone for _fifteen minutes.”_ He turns to look at Flint. “Have you started a fight club while I was gone?” 

 

“We’re sparring,” Thomas says. “James suggested that I should brush up on my self-defense skills.” 

 

“Since Flint can’t do it, he asked me to help instruct Thomas,” Madi says, and Thomas turns back to her. “Again. Try to see the movement before it comes, in the flex of my arms or legs.” 

 

Thomas nods, going back into a prepared stance, as Madi pauses before striking him again. Flint and Silver watch them grapple. “Just in case our cover’s blown,” Flint says, watching the two spar with the sort of intensity he usually reserves for using a rifle or hanging curtains, “He needs to be able to defend himself.” He picks up his glass. 

 

“Somehow I know you have higher standards than the agency,” Silver says, moving to put away the milk. “Although with all this sound, someone walking by the house is going to think we’re having an orgy in here.” 

 

Flint coughs on his sip of water, and Silver pats him on the back when he returns. Madi hits Thomas in the chest with the flat of her palm, then, and although Thomas stumbles back, he manages to clip her shins with his foot as he falls with a loud thud.

 

“Ow,” he says from the ground. “Better?” 

 

“That’s pretty good,” Flint says, clearing his throat and turning back to them. “Now, try-“ 

 

“This is ridiculous,” Silver interrupts, and Thomas frowns. “You should be aiming for her fists. Rather than try to knock her off balance, use the advantage of your much longer limbs, hold her back.” 

 

Flint makes a scoffing noise. “Anyone coming after him is going to be taller than her, most likely. He needs to be prepared for that, and he won’t be able to use that as effectively.” 

 

“You’re right,” Silver allows, then reaches down to remove his trainers. “Well then, he’ll just have to train against someone a little closer to his size.” He looks down at his sleeveless shirt. “I like this one, so try not to break my nose, would you?” 

 

“What- _you?_ ” Flint says as Madi steps back, her lips quirked into a half-smile. “What are you-“

 

“What’s it look like?” Silver throws at him and he faces Thomas. “Fists up, Hamilton.” 

 

Madi slides onto the couch next to Flint as Thomas stands up. “John’s an excelling sparring partner,” she says, sounding reassuring as Flint glances between the two of them. “We’ve taught each other a lot.” 

 

“That was our first date, wasn’t it,” Silver says, before dodging one of Thomas’s punches. “We’re still banned from that restaurant. A shame, since that sushi was wonderful.” 

 

“Thomas, watch for the slight delay on his left side. If he exaggerates any of his punches, there’s a good chance he’s going to use his other side,” Madi tells him, and Thomas complies. Silver swerves to avoid a kick. 

 

“Christ, your arms are long,” he says. Thomas has none of the refined experience that he or Madi might have, but his stature does give him some advantage. “You mentioned that you boxed?” 

 

“In university,” Thomas says, sounding somewhat rueful. “Had to quit when-“ 

 

He stops talking when Silver’s knee hits his side, hard enough to knock the air out of him briefly. Flint’s legs move as if to get up, but then Madi puts a hand on one of his knees, and he relaxes once Thomas turns his head to glare at Silver. 

 

Silver pats him on the back. “Here’s a rule,” Silver tells him. “Never break your concentration in the middle of a fight.” 

 

In the next moment, Thomas kicks out. Silver laughs as he hits the ground, not hard enough to injure, but enough so that the vase on the distant coffee table rattles. “There we go,” Silver says, springing back up. “We’ll make an excellent agent of you yet.” 

 

“Please, no,” Flint says.


	6. Chapter 6

Eventually, Silver lets him at least move up and down the stairs, although Flint manages to hide from him that he has to stop to catch his breath at both ends. He’s still banned from leaving the apartment complex - and the only benefit of that is that he doesn’t have to deal with any of the wretched neighbors. 

 

Flint opens the entrance door a half-foot just to be spiteful, feeling the sun on his face, and then he turns back to go to Thomas and Madi’s.

 

Madi steps back into the apartment once she sees it’s him at the door, and Flint glances over her shoulder to make sure the curtains facing the street are drawn.

 

“I have some bank statements for you,” Flint says. He holds up a thumb drive. “Silver sends his regards.”

 

“He said something you’d rather not repeat to me, I presume,” Madi says.

 

“Yes,” Flint says. “He also says to check your phone.” 

 

“Come in,” Madi says, and Flint closes the door behind him as they step into the apartment. 

 

He has never worked with her directly before - he’s only heard rumors about her missions, as he’s sure she has of his. It strikes him now that they know very little about each other outside the perceptions of others. Now that they’re alone, standing in the apartment as Madi puts the thumb drive into her laptop, Flint trying his best not to appear like he’s hovering over her shoulder. 

 

“Silver cares a lot for you,” Flint says eventually because he’s reasonably certain Madi is the sort who would appreciate him approaching such topics head-on. “He called you a lot when you were on your mission.” 

 

“I care about him as well,” Madi says steadily, typing at the laptop. “He talked a lot about you during those calls.” 

 

“Did he, now.” 

 

“I heard that you pushed him off a skyscraper once.” 

 

“He had a grappling hook. He says that he can’t retire. Is that because of you?"

 

Madi stops typing, looks up. “No. But I would guess that you know that about him already.” 

 

They continue to look at each other, measuring. Flint’s about to go back to the back bedroom and let himself into Thomas’s makeshift office when Madi says, slightly unnecessarily, “We should clear the air about something.” 

 

“All right.” Flint braces himself. 

 

“We should trust each other.”

 

He didn’t expect that, in all honesty. “Pardon me?” 

 

"“I trust him, and he trusts you,” Madi says, looking at him steadily. “We should learn to have some measure of trust grow from that. Beyond doing our jobs - this has taken a personal turn, and I believe it would be in our best interests.”  

 

“That’s enough for you?” Flint resists the urge to spin the fake wedding ring around his finger - a habit he’s picked up somewhere along the line - just when, he’s not going to think about too much.  “You think something can just be decided upon like that?” 

 

“I do,” Madi says. “In our line of work especially, it is important to remain human, and trust is a key component of, how shall I say, playing well with others.” Her mouth quirks. “Wouldn’t you agree?” 

 

Flint sees how she meets his gaze with no qualms. “I already trust you to protect Thomas,” he says, finally. “Is that enough to start?” 

 

In response, Madi holds out her hand. “To building trust,” she says. 

 

Flint shakes it. “I think that we might become good friends,” he says in return, and Madi gives him a surprised, honest smile, “If we’re not careful.” 

 

She nods to the back. “Thomas has been working all morning,” she says. “He’s very focused, but he might open that door for you.”

 

Flint follows her gaze to the closed door in the back of the apartment. “Did he close that door?” 

 

“No, I did.” She pauses. "He was starting to theorize out loud.” 

 

“Does he have the conspiracy-like wall setup yet?” 

 

“That started this morning, red strings and all.” Madi shuts the computer. “An often occurrence?” 

 

“I met him when he was a grad student. It’s all rather normal to me by now, I’m afraid,” Flint says wryly. “I think I’ll wait a few minutes before disturbing the expert.” He pauses. “Can I put on the kettle?” 

 

“By all means,” Madi says, gesturing, and while they’re both quiet once again, it’s far more comfortable now.

•••

By the time Thomas emerges from his office, holding a stack of files and still looking rather distant as he scrawls down some more notes, Silver has joined Madi and Flint in the apartment. 

 

“Good God, you’ve got ink on your face,” Silver says to Thomas, who rubs his chin, looking slightly perplexed. “Trying out for a theater production?"

 

“Come here,” Flint says, and he wipes the smudge off of Thomas’s cheek himself. Thomas turns to press a kiss on his wrist, and Flint can feel himself flush a bit before he clears his throat. “How’s your work going?” 

 

“Tedious,” Thomas says, but his eyes are still darting over his notes in his hands, and he looks rather enthralled for ‘tedious'. “I do believe your earlier hypothesis was correct. I’ve managed to translate some of Rogers’s system notes, and it looks like a series of dates and locations. They’re all still jumbled together though- I wonder-“ He makes another scrawled note in the margin of the top page.

 

“That’ll be the shipments,” Flint says, turning back to Silver. “Do you have any new intel on your end?” 

 

“There’s been some chatter about a charity gala coming up, that Rogers is attending,” Silver says. He looks at Madi. “Anything from the feed?” 

 

“It looks like Eleanor’s intel about a large shipment going through soon is accurate.” Madi looks thoughtful. “If that’s the case, we might be able to use the fact that he’s having this event to try to bug him.” 

 

“A bug?” Flint says. “You think we’ll be able to get close enough to Rogers to plant one on him?” 

 

“It would be too risky to try to tap Rogers directly,” Silver argues immediately. “Not to mention that man’s bound to find anything we could plant on him, even if we could get through his bodyguards unnoticed.’ 

 

“We could try to steal his phone,” Madi suggests. “Get what we can from it.” 

 

“And have him know he’s got agents tailing him? I might as well put a sign out front proclaiming our real jobs.” Silver pauses. “We also can’t get near him at his office or his home.” 

 

“We would only need a way to directly spy on him for a few days,” Flint says, his mind racing. “If we know he’s meeting with any of his associates, we might be able to hear something that way, before he finds the bug.” 

 

“And when he discovers it? What then?” Silver asks. 

 

“Hopefully, by then, we’ll have a list of shipment locations, and we’ll be able to crack down on him once and for all,” Flint says. He looks at Thomas. “Do you think you’ll have that list soon - or the location of the soonest one?” 

 

“I will,” Thomas says, looking determinedly at the papers in front of him. “I’ll figure this out.” 

 

•••

 

“A gala,” Silver says later, slouching on their couch back up in their flat. “Remind me, why are we the ones going?” 

 

“Because our cover is more established.”

 

“You were just shot, and you’re on house arrest- you don’t think that takes precedence?” 

 

“I’m the best at infiltration out of us agents,” Flint reminds him. “The house arrest part- well, we’ll just have to keep this operation under the wraps, won’t we?” 

 

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Silver says heavily, letting his head drop. “When did I become the responsible one?” 

 

“A terrifying world, it is,” Flint says dryly. “Change the channel, my show is on.” 

 

“I truly fear for the world if your favorite show is this reality garbage,” Silver says, but he changes the station from the news they had been idly watching. “Really? What are you, a teenage girl?” 

 

“When you’re holed up on a couch, you start to become awfully fond of even the most ridiculous drivel to pass the time,” Flint says darkly, as the television plays the intro theme music - not that he would ever admit this to Silver, but he _is_ rather looking forward to seeing what happens on this week’s episode - and he’s not going to think about that too much, either. 

 

“Now, darling, I’ll let that slide if you can admit to yourself that your love for reality television was present before you were ever injured,” Silver says. “Back to this gala- how do you suppose we’ll break this to Eleanor when she inevitably finds out?” 

 

Flint shrugs, eyes on the screen. “She’ll see the reason.” 

 

“You just want to have a night of fine dining and dancing with me, old man. Wait until you see my tango.” 

 

“You’ve got me there.” Flint turns up the volume, but Silver is undeterred. 

 

“A charity gala. Like a proper gala, is it?” 

 

“You were in the room when we discussed it, but yes.” 

 

“Do either of us even own a dinner jacket?” 

 

“We will soon." 

 

“You seem rather unfazed by this plan.” Silver swings his legs down. “What about your shoulder, then?” 

 

“I’ve infiltrated similar events before. My shoulder is perfectly fine-“ Silver raises an eyebrow “-and most importantly, we’ll be able to place a bug on Rogers.” 

 

“What if we see Rogers at the barbecue this weekend? Won’t he blow our cover?” 

 

“I’m counting on it.” Flint rolls up the window then so that Silver can hear him clearly. “He’s going to give us invitations to the gala when we’re at the barbecue. We’re going to need those if we’re going to be going, after all. We’ll put the bug on him there, and take it back at the gala.” 

 

Silver eyes him. “What- you’re going to convince him?”

 

“Obviously.” 

 

“Just like that, then? You’ll bug him and steal the device back?” 

 

“It’ll work. Between the two of us, we’ll make it happen.” The _trust me_ is still on his tongue when Silver nods, his brow still creased, but he seems to accept it. 

 

Then Silver asks, “Are you going to wear a bowtie?” 

 

“Who do you take me for?” Flint says, and he too turns to look out the window to hide the smile that apparently comes from nowhere at Silver’s resulting surprised laughter. 

 

They watch television together for the rest of the evening, and Silver’s foot is warm where it’s propped up against Flint’s thigh, and he feels the absence acutely when Silver eventually gets up to take a shower. 

 

•••

 

“The sink’s leaking again,” Flint says. 

 

“What do you expect me to do about it?” Silver says, not looking up from his book. “Christ, do you know you have awful taste in poetry?"

 

A shadow falls across the pages, and Silver has no warning when Flint grabs the book from him. “Silver. The sink.” 

 

“Ugh,” Silver says, getting up. “There’s a toolbox in the garage, hold on-“ 

 

He makes it down the stairs, muttering under his breath the entire way. He finds the wrench and takes a moment to straighten the floor mat so that Flint doesn’t trip over it again tomorrow. 

 

“What I wonder,” Anne Bonny says, and Silver very carefully does not whirl around to throw the wrench at her head, “Is what are these tuxes for?” 

 

“What tuxedos?” Silver asks as Anne steps out from the shadowy corner of the garage. 

 

She shoots him an unimpressed look. “The dry cleaning bags from earlier. Mrs. Brown was talking about them.” 

 

“These are Flint’s sweaters."

 

She just stares at him. “I looked in them already. What are they for?” 

 

“It’s for our fake anniversary?” Silver tries. “James is taking me to a nice restaurant, show me off a little, the works.” 

 

Anne says, “I’ll give you one more try, then I’ll break your thumb with that wrench.” 

 

“All right, we’re doing an op,” Silver says. “Jesus. Don’t look at me like that- my husband is a very protective man, he’ll take offense if you break my beautiful hands-“ 

 

“No, I won’t,” Flint says, appearing behind him, and Anne’s eyes slide up to him. “Good evening.” 

 

“You both have to start wearing bells,” Silver says. “God damn it."

 

“Flint.” Anne’s voice is still curt but she stops looking quite so murderous, even as she crosses her muscled arms. “What operation? Eleanor hasn’t approved anything new. “

 

“That would be because this is our own operation,” Flint says. “It’s an opportunity to get a tap on Rogers, one that we would sorely regret missing.” He’s going to have to convince her, Silver realizes, and he steps aside to let Flint take the two steps down to meet Anne.

 

“And you and this one are both going, is it?” Anne asks, jerking her chin at Silver. “Even though you’re grounded and he’s notoriously terrible at planting bugs.” 

 

“Wow,” Silver says, “First of all, that one time was entirely not my fault, and how do you even _know about that time_ -“ 

 

“He’s coming with me,” Flint says, and now there’s a measured caution in his eyes. “Are you going to tell Eleanor?” 

 

“Yes,” Anne says, and both Flint and Silver stiffen. “But I’m going to convince her for you idiots.” 

 

That’s an answer he didn’t expect, and both he and Flint watch as Anne pulls out a small cell phone right there and then. She glares at them, and Flint puts a hand on the small of Silver’s back to guide him out of hearing range. 

 

Silver still eavesdrops from the other side of the garage door, but he’s nearly horrified by the words he hears. “Are they-“

 

“What?” Flint says, looking up from where they’re sitting on the hood of their car. “Are you listening in?” 

 

“Of course I’m listening in. Anne just called her _love_ ,” Silver says. “Eleanor Guthrie - feared spy handler, terrifying woman- she called her _love_.” 

 

Before Flint can contribute his thoughts to this apparent development, Anne returns, closing her phone sharply. “It’s done,” Anne says. “She’s approving the mission under the condition, that I sit in with the other agent over the comms.” 

 

“Done?” Flint echoes, but when Anne shoots a glare at him, he clears his throat. “All right. Thank you.” 

 

“Madi will appreciate the company,” Silver says. “The man she’s been trapped with- ow, _ow,_ that’s my _elbow_ , I didn’t mean it, damn it Flint- Thomas is a very interesting man-“

 

Anne makes a disgusted sound, and she says, “Don’t blow this entire operation,” as she turns on her heel to go. Both Flint and Silver watch her moodily stomp to the end of the driveway, then turn to each other. 

 

“I thought she and Max-“ 

 

“Yeah.” 

 

“But Eleanor and Max are exes-“ 

 

“Yeah,” Flint says. “Is that a foreign concept to you?” 

 

“Oh, fuck off. That’s a- development, though, you have to admit.” 

 

“It works for them,” Flint says, and something shifts over his face. “It can work.” 

 

“Are you thinking about her?” The words come out of Silver’s mouth before he can help it. “I remember- there was a woman in the photo of you and Thomas. That photo you have upstairs.”  

 

Flint glares at him, and it’s not like usual- there’s something cold in his eyes that Silver hasn’t seen in a while, especially not towards him. “I don’t want to talk about it,” Flint says, and then he’s going up to the flat before Silver can move. 

 

Silver kicks the tire in a sudden fit of anger, and rather follow Flint upstairs, he goes to Madi and Thomas’s flat. Eventually, they kick him out too, and when Silver makes it to the upstairs flat, Flint is already asleep. 

 

•••

 

Eventually, Flint’s lower arm sling comes off. Madi helps pry it off his arm using two sharp knives, much to the distress of both Silver and Thomas, after dinner one night. His shoulder is still bandaged, but it’s healing well. 

 

 When Silver leaves to do his rounds at Rogers’s apartment building the next day, he makes Flint promise to take it easy. “Muscle atrophy,” Silver says. “Infection.” 

 

“Got it,” Flint replies.

 

“Careful of newly helped injuries,” Silver emphasizes. “Careful of reopening wounds.” 

 

“Yup.” 

 

“You’re going to still have to  _take it easy_ -“

 

“Shouldn’t you be going?” Flint interrupts, because he’s a bastard, and Silver glowers at him as he leaves. 

 

It’s another quiet day of recon, and Silver takes photos of Rogers entering and leaving the building for some meeting. The man’s looking more haggard with every day, which Silver takes some perverse pleasure in, but there’s nothing strange happening at the office building. 

 

Silver is only half-surprised when he comes back that afternoon, and Flint is doing pull-ups on the kitchen door frame.

 

Silver stares up at him, as Flint completes his set. “You call this taking it easy?” 

 

Flint huffs as he lands on his feet, light enough so that Silver can barely hear the creak of the floorboards. “I have to stay in shape.”

 

“You have to heal,” Silver points out, setting his bag down on the couch. “Did you hurt your shoulder?” 

 

“I was getting bored of the weights,” Flint says in protest, as Silver comes over and prods gently at his healing wound. “Ow.” 

 

“I swear to God,” Silver mutters, but he lets go of Flint’s upper shoulder. “Talk to Thomas and Madi today?” 

 

“I visited them downstairs this morning,” Flint says, going to the kitchen. “Thomas is getting better at sparring. He nearly landed a blow on Madi today. Distracted me, too, and managed to sweep my legs out from beneath me.” 

 

“That’s good,” Silver says as he puts away his laptop. “Wait- you were sparring with him?” 

 

“Of course,” Flint says, and he turns on the faucet to fill his glass. “Madi appreciated the break, and he should learn with all styles of fighting-“ 

 

“You are supposed to be healing,” Silver repeats, trying to resist bashing his head on the coffee table. “What part of that did you miss?” 

 

“I’m nearly recovered,” Flint argues, and he takes a sip of water. “I’m fine to spar.” 

 

“Really?” Silver asks. “If you still wince when you get water on your wound, you know, it’s not healed. I heard you moaning in the shower the other morning.” 

 

“Are you asking for a demonstration?” Flint asks, setting down his glass of water, and oh, Silver is going to _get him_ for that. 

 

“Are you challenging me, Mr. Barlow?” Silver asks, “Because if you are, I’ll have you know-“

 

He’s cut off by Flint’s weight barreling into his midsection, and Silver barely has the time to curl his head in to protect his neck before he’s flying over the back of the couch. Flint lands on him hard, on the other side, and Silver twists his torso up and around, flipping them over until Flint’s pinned on the hardwood. 

 

Flint grins from beneath him, eyes bright. “Tap out to surrender, use of room furniture allowed?”

 

“Yes, and yes,” Silver says, feeling Flint’s sides twitch under his thighs. “No use of fire, or bullets? We just painted that wall.” 

 

“Deal,” Flint says, and Silver dodges his punch, as Flint flings him off of him and they go rolling to opposite sides of the room. 

 

Silver bounces up to his feet. “Old man, you’re going to have to remember I’m not like your husband,” he says. “You’re going to have to sweat to get one over me.”

“Hmm,” Flint says, and he gets to his feet, pushes his hair back from where it flopped onto his forehead. “I think I already did.” 

 

They come closer, and it’s Flint’s turn to dodge now when Silver tries to clip him with his fist. “You’re getting slow,” Silver taunts, as he leaps over Flint’s foot that tries to get at his shins. “You know you’re supposed to try to hit me, right?” 

 

“You know what they say, though, about youth having no stamina,” Flint says, and he wheezes out a laugh when Silver catches his arm, twisting it behind his back. Flint bends over and yanks, and Silver goes flying over his back to land on the ground hard. “Had enough?” 

 

“You wish,” Silver says, wiping his mouth as he gets up, and when Flint charges at him, he deftly steps to the side. Flint changes direction, pushes him into the kitchen island, and Silver groans as his spine connects sharply with the metal drawer handles. “Fuck!”

 

Flint draws a knife from one of the nearby drawers, and Silver takes the opportunity to grab one of the pots hanging above the island, flipping over the island to the other side. 

 

“Really, a pot?” Flint asks. “You’re supposed to be fighting, not cooking-“ He’s cut off when the handle connects with his neck, and Flint gasps, taking a step back, hand going to his throat. 

 

“Shit,” Silver says. “Are you all right-“ and he ducks when Flint flings the knife at him, the blade embedding into the microwave.

 

“Bastard,” Flint says, “That was the last one in chrome gray they had in stock. You could’ve caught that.”

 

“I could have,” Silver agrees cheerfully, and then he’s jumping over the island to attack once again, this time wrapping Flint’s neck in a dish towel to head butt him. 

 

•••

 

Thomas glances up when there’s another thud on the ceiling. They’re having dinner, and above them the light bulb flickers when there’s another bang above them, shaking the light fixture slightly. 

 

Madi follows his gaze, chewing on a green bean. “Do you think they’re killing each other?” Thomas questions. 

 

Madi listens for another second, before swallowing. “No gunshots. I’d say they’re sparring.” 

 

Thomas hums. “They’re both rather idiots, aren’t they?” 

 

“I wonder what that says about us, that we love them still,” Madi says in reply, and Thomas smiles, taking a sip of his wine. 

 

“Pass the chicken, would you, dear?” 

 

•••

The day of the summer barbecue comes, and Flint walks into their bedroom that afternoon to find Silver trying on shirts. 

 

“What- _no,”_ Flint says. “Take that off.”

 

Silver’s eyes meet his in the mirror. “If you wanted me naked, darling, I’d be happy to oblige, but I’m afraid there is a 'summer fun time' dress code at this thing,” he says, shucking off the hideously neon shirt anyways. “Mr. Brown was insistent.” 

 

Flint resolutely keeps his eyes on the back of Silver’s head, and not the flex of his back muscles - not that he’d noticed. “You look like a traffic stop cone.” 

 

Silver huffs, and he snags another shirt. This one is a patterned monstrosity, unfortunately, but in a much less offensive pale blue, and it has sleeves, so Flint’s not going to complain. “There, are you happy?” He turns around in the middle of buttoning the shirt. “You’re fucking- you’re _kidding_ me.” 

 

“What?” Flint says, glancing down at his polo shirt. 

 

“You’re wearing the khaki shorts!"

 

“I thought you’d appreciate them,” Flint says, and Silver’s eyes snap up to his. “I’m fulfilling the emotionally absent father role, was it?”

 

“Ah, right,” Silver says slightly quickly. “Is it your turn to pick up the children in your impulse-buy convertible today, or do you have a date with your secretary that’s going to end at a sleazy motel instead?"

 

“ _You’re_ sleazy,” Flint retorts, and he turns to the nightstand, where he had left his watch. “Thomas and Madi already left. We shouldn’t be late.” 

 

“Fashionably late,” Silver corrects. “Pass me my shoes?” 

 

“These have open toes,” Flint says rather despairingly, as he bends over to pick them the sandals. Silver makes an odd sound behind him, but when Flint straightens up with the shoes, Silver’s eyes are past him, even though there’s a strange flush on the tops of his cheeks. “Can I convince you to borrow a pair of my shoes?” 

 

“Never,” Silver says. “All right, now, are we on our way?” 

 

The Browns’ house, as predicted, is covered in a mess of tropical prints, and the thick smell of burning barbecue meat is present before they even step foot on the property.

 

“The Barlows! Right this way,” Mrs. Brown says, appearing in a bright green sweater set to shepherd them into the backyard. Flint’s eyes hurt a little to look at her directly, so he looks over at Silver, who raises his eyebrows as if to say _I told you so_. “James, my husband requested that I deliver you right to him. He’s by the grill and he keeps on burning the sausages, that poor man."

 

Silver matches her tinkling laughter with one of his own. “Go on, now, James,” he says. “Mrs. Brown - you haven’t by any chance seen the Williams yet, have you?” 

 

Mrs. Brown looks thoughtful. “They’re by the rose bushes, I believe,” Mrs. Brown says, and Silver searches through the crowd of people. “Oh- what happened?”

 

Silver glances back at her, sees her eyes on his neck, specifically on the edge of the dark, reddish bruise that is peeking out from beneath his collar. “Ah. Well, I must have fallen,” he hedges and is fully prepared to fling himself into the bushes when Mrs. Brown gives another laugh, swatting at his shoulder. He realizes now that the tooth marks are very visible, and Silver pulls at the neckline of his shirt. 

 

(He desperately does not think about how those bruises are from when Silver had wrapped his legs around Flint's torso, pushed his arms where he was wielding a rolling pin above his head, and Flint had retaliated by sinking his teeth into his skin. He’s been to very few barbecues, but he thinks that any reaction to those thoughts will most assuredly be unsuitable for any sort of public setting.)

 

“I’m glad to see you and James are still in that honeymoon phase,” she says mischievously, and Silver, a grown adult, absolutely does not blush. “Dear, they have invented concealer, you know?"

 

“Well, you know me and my sensitive skin,” Silver says, “Pardon me, there’s something I absolutely _must discuss_ with the Williams,” and he escapes the woman.

 

On the way over, he catches a glance of Anne, who looks bored as Mr. Jones talks to her about something. She’s drinking something clear and likely alcoholic, looking supremely uncomfortable in a bright pink halter top, and Silver sends her a pitying look. She glares right back in response before turning her attention back to the balding man. 

 

Thomas and Madi are sitting at one of the picnic benches, a pitcher of sangria between them. Silver snags a cup from another table and he pours himself a hearty glass. “You don’t want to know,” he says, and they both watch him gulp down the fruity drink. 

 

“Good, I won’t ask,” Madi says. “Where is James?”

 

“Over by the grill,” Silver says, chewing on a raspberry. “How are you two doing?”

 

“Living the suburban life,”  Thomas says, gesturing down at his Hawaiian print shirt with a rather glum expression. “I was just about to figure out this one part of the code-"

 

Madi elbows him lightly. “No work talk now, _dear,”_ she says. “John, why do you look like that?” 

 

Silver pouts, glancing at Thomas’s shirt. “I was going to wear a similar shirt. James made me change.” 

 

“It wasn’t the neon orange one, was it?” Madi asks. “You look like a traffic cone in that one.” 

 

He points at her. “Not a word when James comes over. Not one word.”

•••

 

Halfway through a dull conversation Flint had been having with Mr. Brown over some football match, the other man is interrupted by his wife coming over. 

 

“Get us some more ice, would you?” Mrs. Brown requests, and the man acquiesces, leaving Flint alone in front of the grill. 

 

“This is a nice grill,” Flint tries. 

 

“Thank you, dear,” Mrs. Brown says.  “You have some marks on you too, don’t you? What happened?"

 

Flint yanks down his sleeve, where he suddenly remembers he has fingerprint-shaped bruises from Silver grappling with him up against the fridge last night. “Uh.” He can still feel the bruise on the back of his skull where Silver had slammed him against the freezer. “Funny story, actually.” 

 

“Let me guess, an accident?” Mrs. Brown says, her mouth twitching. 

 

Flint glances over to the picnic table where he can see the back of Silver’s head. “Well, we were visiting the Williams, actually, and they needed help putting up their bookshelves. I nearly took the brunt of a poorly leveled plank, and John pulled me out of the way. A close call, it was.” 

 

“Oh, you were with the Williams? John didn’t mention that,” Mrs. Brown says inexplicably, and she nudges into his side before Flint can read into that. “You know what, you and John should stay for the afterparty. It’s over at the Jones’s tonight.”

 

“Oh,” Flint says, flipping over some hamburgers. “I don’t know, John likes to go to bed early-“

 

“I’m sure he does,” Mrs. Brown says with a giggle, and Flint focuses very hard on flipping the burgers. “I must insist, you and John would love it.” Her pink-painted nails tighten on his arm ever so slightly. 

 

“All right,” Flint says after a moment, “That would be great.” Mrs. Brown lets go of his arm, patting it before leaving him. 

 

He finishes cooking the gigantic platter of meat, leaving it on the picnic table, and he snags a plate of hot dogs and rolls to bring over to the picnic table. 

 

Thomas looks up at him with big, warm eyes, and Flint lets a tiny smile flit out across his face at him, as Silver reaches over him to grab a hot dog. “Mrs. Brown corner you, then?” Silver asks, chewing on a bun.

 

“They’re the ones who had the coded book?” Madi asks quietly. 

 

Flint nods at her, glancing at Silver. “They invited us to an after party of sorts. Do you think-?”

“Maybe,” Silver allows. “But would they-“

 

“It’s worth a shot,” Flint allows, and they turn back to Madi and Thomas, who are watching them both with - strangely fond expressions. “We’ll go tonight.”

 

“All right,” Thomas says, and he grabs a hot dog as well. “These are delightfully cooked, James.”

 

“Thank you, Mr. Williams,” Flint says. “I know my way around meat.” 

 

“You know your way around buns too, it appears,” Thomas says teasingly.

 

“Madi, control your husband,” Silver says, tossing a roll at Thomas’s head. “Husband, stop flirting with the neighbor. They’re going to think I don’t pay enough attention to you.” 

 

“You pay far too much attention to me,” Flint says. “What did you tell Mrs. Brown about the bruise on your neck?” 

 

“Oh, this,” Silver says, far too casually. “Ah, she just assumed something. No matter.”

 

“Pass me the mustard,” Madi says then, “Stop talking, I’m starving.” 

 

•••

 

 Several glasses of sangria later, Silver is feeling comfortable and loose, and he lets his arm drape over the back of James’s chair. Thomas and Madi had been persuaded to hit the makeshift dance floor by some of the other neighbors. They’re watching them now, Thomas being led around by Madi on the dance floor despite the fact that he’s about twice her height. Madi’s effortless swaying is in sharp contrast to Thomas’s look of concentration as he moves his feet, hands clasped in hers, ducking under the low-hanging strands of tiny lights as she swings them around. 

 

“They’re ridiculous, and I’d take a bullet for both of them,” Silver whispers, and he can feel Flint laugh. “Can I say that?” 

 

“I think you can,” Flint says confidently, pouring them more sangria. Silver puts his hand over his glass just a moment too late, and Flint swears as he jerks the pitcher back, ending up with dark liquid dripping off the back of his own hand. “Shit. “ He licks the back of his hand, and Silver- Silver can’t drag his eyes away. _Fuck._

 

“I’m going to be drunk soon,” Silver tells him, as Flint’s tongue runs over his lower lip. “Are you going to attempt something, Mr. Barlow, in my intoxicated state?” 

 

“Hmm, never,” Flint says, and maybe he’s a little drunk too, as Silver smells the fruity-sweet aroma from his breath. “I’m a gentleman. I’d put you to bed, tuck you in. But then I might still wake up next to you in the morning, because I’m not that good at being a gentleman.” His eyes glitter, amd Silver has to remember how to breathe.

 

“I can count the number of times, on one hand, I’ve been hungover,” Silver says, as Flint licks the back of his hand again. “You’re the one who bemoans me every morning for going on a jog.” He lets the hand that’s been resting on Flint’s bare knee slide up, and if it’s just them trying to play the role of doting husbands that he lets his thumb rub circles into Flint’s freckled thigh, well, then, he’s just playing his part. 

 

“I think you’ve drunk a little too much sangria,” Flint whispers, and before Silver can drag his hand away, he puts a hand over Silver’s. “What are we?” 

 

“We’re the steadfast Barlows,” Silver says. “Come on, I thought your airtight undercover methods would have covered being a little liquored up-“

 

“No, I mean, what are we to each other?” Flint asks, and Silver realizes that despite the scent of fruit on his breath, Flint is nowhere near intoxicated- and Silver is not drunk enough to be having this conversation. “We had a moment, but you didn’t say anything."

 

“Does it matter?” Silver asks, and he can see when Flint’s eyes tighten ever so slightly. “What’s in the past, I don’t care-“ 

 

Flint turns his head to the side then, avoiding his eyes, and the words die in Silver’s throat. He’s trying to think of something to say, only Flint’s hand stays heavy on his, and Silver just inhales, smelling Flint’s shampoo, the sickly sweet scent of the bug spray they’d used earlier, and something below that, musky and smoky and maybe entirely from Flint. 

 

It’s because of their close position that Silver can feel the moment when Flint’s shoulder muscles tense. He leans in so his lips are just barely brushing Flint’s earlobe, as Flint sees something that Silver can’t, from this angle. “What is it?” 

 

“Rogers just arrived,” Flint says quietly, and suddenly, it looks like they’re back to business. “He looks exhausted.” 

 

“You better get us those invitations, then, don’t you?” Silver says, and Flint lets go of his hand. “Try not to knock him into the table of pies.” 

 

“The pies don’t deserve that,” Flint says, and then he’s standing up to go, Silver’s hand falling from his leg. 

 

•••

 

As he approaches Rogers, Flint lets his gait relax, until he’s lightly bumping into Thomas and Madi- the latter swiftly glancing over to where he’s heading- and he lets his voice be a little too loud as he calls, “Hey- Mr. Rogers, is that you?”

 

Woodes Rogers looks over at him, and Flint lets a grin spread out onto his face - something he’s seen Silver do, and he’s a little disturbed at how well it works. Rogers relaxes, seeing just the drunk neighbor ambling over towards him. “Pardon me, I don’t think we’ve met,” the man says, eyeing him up and down. 

 

Flint reaches out, shaking his hand loosely. “James Barlow. My husband and I live down the block,” he says. “I’ve heard so much about your work from Karen and Joe, you know, I just had to meet the man behind it.” 

 

“Yes, well, my company is dedicated to giving back to the community,” Rogers says, rather blandly. “If you’ll excuse me-“ 

 

“Oh certainly. I just had to say, when I was in the Navy, my superiors always had the best things to say about your global work,” Flint rambles, pretending like he doesn’t see the glint that appears in Rogers’s eye. “The admiral was always an admirer of your proposed policies, and the very generous gifts you made.” 

 

“You were in the Navy?” Rogers asks. “An officer?"

 

“Ah yes, Lieutenant Barlow, at your service,” Flint says, forcing the grin to stay on his face. “I’ll let you go now-“

 

“Mr. Barlow, we are always looking for close support with the armed forces,” Rogers says smoothly. “If you would like, my company is hosting a private event next week - if you and your husband would like to attend, I would be honored to extend an invitation towards you.” 

 

Flint makes himself blink, open his eyes wide. “Wow, that would be incredible,” he says. “Mr. Rogers, that’s very kind of you.”

 

“It is my pleasure,” Rogers says, giving him a fake, close-lipped smile. “Now I do have to be on my way, but it’s an honor, lieutenant.” 

 

“And you- ah!” Flint exclaims. “There are those lobster puffs John was raving about.” He sways forward, stumbling into Rogers for a moment, forcing him to grip Flint’s upper arm. “Sorry. We’ll see you around, then,” he says, and he grabs the tray of lobster puffs, slightly stumbling as he makes his way back to Silver. 

 

Silver’s watching him with an amused expression in his eyes. “Someone should give you an Oscar,” he says, as Flint sits down heavily back in his seat. “Did you get those for me?” 

 

“Now we have to eat all of these,” Flint says grimly, letting his pretense slip away. “If we’re going to have to go to the Jones’s after party tonight, we should start eating now, help absorb that wine.” 

 

“Duly noted,” Silver says, and they both help themselves to the appetizers. “You get him?”

 

“Of course,” Flint says. 

 

•••

 

Later that night, they knock on the door of the Jones’s. Silver glances down the hallway, past them. “This is where it is, right?” he asks. “It’s quieter than I expected.”

 

“Maybe it’s a wine and cheese sort of event,” Flint says. “A book club?” 

 

“Maybe they’re eating saltine crackers and comparing paper cuts in there,” Silver says. 

 

“Don’t be so harsh,” Flint says. “Clearly, they’re all in there watching Wheel of Fortune and discussing new recipes to use mayonnaise.” 

 

Silver sniggers just as the door swings open. “Oh, the Barlows,” Mrs. Jones - a sweet woman, in the middle of taking out her earrings, says. “We’re so glad you could make it.” 

 

“Sorry we’re a little late,” Flint says. “John here had to change his shirt in the car.” 

 

Flint had spilled sangria on it, and Silver suspected it was a little on purpose. “Yes,” Silver says. “A shame.” 

 

“Well, this is your first time here, but I’m sure you know the drill,” Mrs. Jones says, and she inexplicably holds out a bowl. “Your watches?”

 

Flint and Silver look at each other. “Of course,” Flint says slowly, and he unhooks his watch, as does Silver. Mrs. Jones waits until they drop them into the bowl. Silver glances in it, and there are more watches- and rings, and cufflinks, and Mrs. Jones adds her earrings to the bowl. 

 

“Would you like any color coded bracelets?” The woman asks brightly. “For men or women?” 

 

Silver has never been more perplexed in his life. “Uh, I think we’re going to keep our minds open,” he hedges, and he can feel Flint’s incredulous look from his side. 

 

“Oh, great,” Mrs. Jones says. “We’re _so glad_ you could make it. _”_

 

Flint peers behind Mrs. Jones then. “It’s a little dark in here, isn’t it?” 

 

“Oh, well, it adds to the ambiance,” Mrs. Jones says. “Do come in.” 

 

•••

 

Silver barely manages to get through the front door before Flint is slamming it shut. “Go, go, go-“ he urges, and Flint’s already two steps ahead of him, as they race down the stairwell before anyone can notice they’ve left. 

 

It’s not until they’re in the car, both breathing heavily, that Silver chances a glance at him. “Did they-“

 

“Yes,” Flint says, eyes on the road. “Christ, can you- can you get the lipstick off?” 

 

Silver obliges, rubbing the red waxy substance as best as he can off of Flint’s neck. “Did you-“

 

“No,” Flint barks out, low. “I have a husband.” 

 

“Right,” Silver says, and he pauses. “Right.” 

 

Flint then looks sideways at him. “You could’ve- you know. If you wanted.” 

 

“What?” Silver says, craning his neck in the mirror. “Oh, shit, Mrs. Jones got me too. Do you think Madi would lend me a makeup wipe with no questions asked?” 

 

Flint shoots him a look. “What?” Silver repeats. 

 

“I meant you,” Flint says, then he stops. “You could have stayed.” 

 

“Stayed- what do you mean, _stayed_?” 

 

“I don’t know the exact agreement you and Madi have come to, but she- she told me about the woman she met in Dubai. I mean- if you wanted to go back, I could drop you off.” Flint looks incredibly awkward, clutching onto the wheel, and something in Silver’s stomach drops. 

 

“Fuck no,” Silver says, and Flint turns to look at him. “I mean- I might have made fake vows to you, but they mean something, you know?” 

 

“Really?” Flint asks. “You don’t have to-“

 

“No, I meant it,” Silver says firmly. “Ugh I- I can still feel where Mr. Brown grabbed my arse. He’s got a strong grip.” 

 

“Both the Sullivans teamed up on me,” Flint grumbles, and Silver can barely tamp down the hysterical laughter that bubbles up in his chest. 

 

“The sweet, sweet Sullivans?” Silver bites his lip. “The ones we dog-sat for?” 

 

“There was latex involved,” Flint says, and Silver has to muffle his laughter into the back of his arm. “Silver- stop it!” 

 

They pull up to the apartment, at last, and to both of their horror, Madi and Thomas are sitting on their porch, drinking beer. 

 

“Maybe we can move?” Silver says. “Fake our deaths? Or maybe we’ll just shoot each other upstairs. It’s been nice knowing you.” 

 

“No,” Flint says diplomatically. “We’re going to be adults here, and we’re going to try to move by them with the absolute minimum conversation.” 

 

“Evening,” Madi says, and Flint and Silver get out of the car. “What happened?” 

 

“There was a major miscommunication,” Silver says, and Flint glares at him. “Of the epic, sexual variety.” 

 

“Oh,” Thomas says. “ _Oh._ You went to the Jones’s?” 

 

“That code book,” Flint says, “Was in fact, nothing to do with Rogers. It was a- a history of pairs.”

 

“A history of pairs?” Madi repeats. “What- oh.” 

 

“That’s right,” Silver says. “Do you have a makeup wipe?” 

 

“Thomas, stop laughing,” Flint pleads. “It was _traumatizing-"_

 

“I can’t believe we went to a swinger’s party by accident,” Silver says. “Oh my god.  _We’re the boring ones around here.”_

 


	7. Chapter 7

Flint wakes up, and there’s a heavy weight across his chest. 

 

It’s not the usual, existential sort of weight he’s grown to expect on his chest each morning, and so it takes him several blinks of trying to get the sleep out of his eyes before he’s able to register its source. He’s greeted by the sight of wayward dark curls right under his nose, and the soft snores of their owner vibrating lightly on his skin. 

 

Flint shifts slightly, and the curls move right along with his jostling. Silver tightens his grip on Flint’s chest and makes a low sound that Flint can feel against his ribs.

 

From the rhythm of his wet breathing, Flint knows he’s not entirely asleep. But he’s apparently not entirely awake, either, and Flint waits for a long moment, feeling sticky and sleepy and content. 

 

“Hey,” Flint says, after an appropriate amount of sleep-dazed time has passed, yawning. “You’re sweating through your shirt onto me.”

 

 “Nope,” he hears in response, “That’s all you."

 

“You most certainly are,” Flint says. “You’re worse than a furnace.” 

 

“Cold,” Silver mumbles. “You’re like an ice block.”

 

“An ice block?"

 

“Yes. Ice cube? From a big freezer. Shh.” Silver moves his head, blinks up at him, and Flint can see the moment Silver realizes their position. He can feel how Silver very carefully does not move his legs where they’re curled between Flint’s, going far more still than Flint, even, but neither of them move. 

 

Flint exhales. “Silver, get off me.” 

 

“We have at least at least an hour. I think. Before the gala.” From Flint’s limited vantage point, he thinks he can see Silver squint. “What time is it?” 

 

“That gala is _tonight_.” He stays still, though. “Don’t you want breakfast?"

 

“My bad,” Silver says, and the dark curls quickly roll off his chest, long arms extricating themselves from where they were gripping onto Flint’s shirt. “Toast. Coffee,” he says, as Flint rolls off the bed. “Eggs, too?” 

 

“This isn’t a hotel,” Flint says heatedly, but he pulls the blankets back over Silver before he leaves the room. “You have fifteen minutes.” 

 

He takes his time putting on the coffee, then starts with the eggs and sausages. He chews on one of the first pieces of toast, slightly burned on the edges the way he likes it. He winces when he catches sight of the late hour on the clock. 

 

 Flint’s pouring himself a mug of fresh coffee when Silver ambles out sixteen minutes later, hair frizzy and wild, and scratching his navel where his tee-shirt has ridden up. “Coffee,” Silver says in a croak, and Flint snags another mug from the cabinet. 

 

When he turns around to hand Silver his cup, Silver’s trying to snag a sausage out of the pan, wincing when the oil burns the tips of his fingers. Flint hits the back of his hand with his spatula, and Silver scowls, chewing on one already. “It’s fucking colder out here.” 

 

“You should wear more clothes to bed,” Flint says, looking down at Silver’s bare legs. 

 

“Not all of us wear flannel to bed, grandpa,” Silver says. “Come on, it’s too early to be lecturing me.”

 

“It’s nearly noon,” Flint tells him. “We should be downstairs working with Madi and Thomas by now.” 

 

“Nah, they’re out. Heard them leave early this morning to get to that market."

 

“A market _?”_ Flint pauses. “You were awake this morning?” 

 

“Yeah, got up for a while,” Silver says nonchalantly, scooping another sausage out of the pan, this time with more success. “Bad night.”

 

“Ah.” They stand there in the kitchen, drinking their coffee for a long moment, both silently staring out the window. Flint has his bad nights, recurring horrors he’s seen of missions gone wrong, the standard variety of nightmares from high-stress situations - and he thinks that by the way Silver is staring distantly out the window, they might have that in common. 

 

“Want to talk about it?” Flint ventures and Silver’s eyes dart back to him. 

 

“We could take shots at the flower pots off the balcony,” Silver suggests, and Flint’s already set down his coffee mug. “Loser has to do dishes.”

 

“I cooked,” Flint says. “Try again.”

 

“Loser has to take out recycling and deal with Mr. Brown this morning?” 

 

“Deal,” Flint says. “Get your revolver.” 

 

 

•••

 

“The bug that you placed on Rogers’s phone was a good idea,” Madi says, showing them notes in her neat handwriting. “We know he’ll be accepting a drug shipment from a Spanish-based cartel in the next few days, and he has yet to find the bug we placed. However, you’re to get the bug back from him tonight."

 

“Steal and schmooze,” Silver says. “My perfect evening.” 

 

Thomas straightens up. “I made a breakthrough on the code,” he says, and Silver watches Flint watch Thomas with a sort of focused, warm intensity that Silver wants to look away from, but he finds that he can’t. “One of his lists has three warehouses, that Madi has determined could be the location of the shipments. Rogers was too clever to indicate exactly which one of it is, but he keeps on referencing _Eurydice,_ which I think might lead us to assume that the warehouse is the one on  Orpheus Street.” 

 

Silver glances over at Anne, who’s leaning in the doorway. “And you?” 

 

“Eleanor wanted you to call her before the op,” Anne says and holds up the secure phone. Silver takes it, exchanging a wordless glance with Flint, and dials. 

 

Eleanor picks up on the third ring. “Don’t blow your cover during the gala,” she says without preamble. “Agent Scott’s intelligence suggests that the shipment will have many heavily armed guards, and we need all the manpower we can muster in the coming days.” 

 

“All right,” Silver says. “We’ll do our best not to die, then.”

 

“Actually, we could die, but we just can’t be captured alive,” Flint says. Silver turns to stare at him, as does Thomas, Madi - and Anne continues picking out something from beneath her nails. “What?” 

 

“Darling,” Silver says, feeling tired all of the sudden, “Let’s not die, shall we?” 

 

“I’m going to have to agree with Silver on this one,” Thomas says. “You know, I have a rather personal investment in your safety.” 

 

“Legally, I’m married to him too right now, you know-“

 

“Hang on, _what do you mean, legally_ -“

 

“All of you, Eleanor is still on the phone-“

 

“Enough,” Anne says. “Hamilton. Get the suits. Eleanor. What were you going to say?” 

 

“Flint,” Eleanor addresses him directly, as Thomas steps out of the room. 

 

“I’m listening,” Flint says. 

 

“if you fuck this up,” Eleanor enunciates, “I will call the director, James.” 

 

“The director?” Silver mouths at Madi, who gives a very slight shrug in return. 

 

Flint’s face is blank. “All right.” 

 

“The director will be most displeased if you put either yourself or Agent Silver in harm’s way,” she says. “The director will not hesitate to send you to, how do I put this, the shittiest detail that you could possibly imagine if you make more reckless decisions.” 

 

“Tell the director that I will be careful,” Flint says flatly, and he reaches over to hang up the phone in Silver’s hand, snapping the phone shut. Silver stares at him, and Flint shoots him a look that very clearly reads, _Don’t ask._

 

“Go put on the tuxes,” Madi says, already pinching the bridge of her nose. “We have an operation to oversee.” 

 

 

•••

 

 

“Well, it’s not a perfect fit, but you look good,” Thomas says, running his hands over Flint’s shoulders. 

 

Flint looks in the full-length mirror, adjusting the shirt sleeves underneath his jacket. “It’s not as bad as I feared,” he says, examining himself. “God, when’s the last time I wore a dinner jacket?” 

 

In the mirror, he sees Thomas eye him. “Can you still fit your holster underneath?”

 

“No guns at the gala, it’s too conspicuous,” Flint says. “There’s a knife in there, plus a good amount of wire in most of the hems thanks to Anne.” He winces when he can feel the fabric pull when he flexes his arms. “Is it too tight?” 

 

“Absolutely not,” Thomas says, and he puts his chin on Flint’s shoulder, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “If you didn’t have to go save the world in the next ten minutes, I’d be ravishing you right here.”

 

“Is that so?” Flint asks, but he can’t hide the twitch of his mouth. 

 

"You pull off formal wear very well, do you know?” Thomas says, kissing just below his earlobe, and Flint shivers. “Reminds me of our wedding. We barely made it through the wedding ceremony before I ripped it off of you.” He reaches around Flint to guide his face towards his.

 

Flint kisses back, reaching up to tilt Thomas’s head just the way he knows he likes. They’ve had very little alone time in the past few weeks, and while Flint has been away on missions longer, the fact that Thomas is here now nearly makes it more torturous. Thomas pulls him closer, and Flint’s hands go to his hair- 

 

But then the door creaks open, and they both turn to look. Madi is there, and she gives them a small smile. “Apologies. John is out front with the cabbie,” she says. 

 

Thomas sighs and Flint turns back to him. “Be safe,” Thomas says, and Flint presses another kiss to his husband's mouth. 

 

“Always.” 

 

Outside by the car, Silver’s back is illuminated by the porch light, and he turns around when he hears Flint. “These penguin suits, right?” Silver says, extending his arms. His jacket’s a little long in the arms, but his hair is tied neatly back, and he’s clean-shaven once again. It’s a bit of a change from his usual clothing, and Flint is surprised at how fixed he is on the way that the jacket highlights his broad shoulders, as the bright light overhead casts his features into sharp contour. “You shaved off your mustache?” 

 

“I didn’t have a _mustache_ ,” Flint says. “It was just stubble. And you shaved too, for that matter.” 

 

“A shame,” Silver says, and he steps closer. “Your bow tie’s crooked.” 

 

Flint tilts his chin up, as Silver steps right in front of him. The backs of his fingers are cool against Flint’s throat as Silver adjusts it. “Out of the two of us, I would’ve guessed you would be fixing mine,” Silver says.

 

Flint swallows, knows that Silver can feel the movement. “I’m sure you’ll try to tear yours off by the first dance,” he says.

 

His long fingers pause. “I happen to like bowties, thank you very much,”  Silver says, smirking, opening the taxi door. "Let's go." 

 

 

•••

 

The gala is an overblown and ostentatious affair, as Flint had assumed. They step in and immediately are served two glasses of champagne by a stuffy-looking waiter, as Flint squints around the place. The room is filled with people in suits and gowns, and Flint looks up to see several elaborate chandeliers dangling from the ceiling, clashing with the collection of expensive-looking modern art on the walls. 

 

Silver downs his glass of champagne quickly, while Flint takes a hesitant sip. Silver takes his glass then and downs it as well. “Let me get you something else more suited to your delicate palate,” Silver says, and he disappears into the well-dressed crowd with the two flutes in hand before Flint can stop him.  

 

“Don’t drink too much,” Madi says in his ear, “I have visual on both you and John,” and Flint barely resists doing something as juvenile as sticking his tongue out up at the cameras above their heads.

 

He gathers all his previous knowledge from the various functions he has attended - back when his father-in-law had held such events, and he had yet to throw a book at Alfred Hamilton’s face-  and he plasters a smile on his face. 

 

An older couple gives him a strange look as they go by. Flint’s face feels like it’s going to split. Perhaps he should leave the small talk to Silver after all. 

 

“You look like you’re going to murder someone,” Anne says, and there’s a muffled laugh- either Thomas or Madi, he doesn’t know. 

 

“I do not,” Flint hisses into the comm, disguising it with a cough. 

 

“You look like you’re about to strangle someone with a tablecloth,” Silver says, suddenly reappearing at his elbow. “Drink up."

 

He hands Flint a martini, which Flint would give some illusion of a fuss about if it wasn’t exactly what he wanted right now, and he knows Silver knows this. He takes a sip as Silver continues quietly, “Rogers is over in the main hall to greet guests. He has two bodyguards behind him, and at least two plainclothes circling around.” 

 

“Notice the security cameras?” Flint says. Silver nods and turns his head ever so slightly. “Madi says she tapped into them, but Rogers’s people will still have access to them. However, they don’t likely cover that service entrance on the east side of the building.”

 

“Excellent,” Silver says, as Flint drinks his martini. “I’m glad my date has both brains and looks.” 

 

“Silver, where’s your mic?” Madi asks, her voice slightly tinny in his ear. 

 

"We’ll join the line to give our regards to our host, but first, I think you owe me a dance,” Silver says smoothly, instead. He plucks Flint’s glass from his hand once more. “I won’t hear any protests.” 

 

Flint shoots him a look, and then Madi in his ear goes, “No, John, don’t you dare-“ as Silver leans up to kiss him, chaste and smooth. As Flint kisses him back, Silver plucks the earpiece from Flint’s ear, and he drops it into the martini glass. 

 

“Oops,” Silver says, as he fishes it out then, putting it into his pocket, leaning in to say in a low voice, “Rogers’s bodyguards are sweeping the room for bugs. Didn’t want you to get arrested now, do I?” 

 

“You’ll explain that one to Eleanor,” Flint says, as Silver takes his arm, handing the glass to one of the waiters. “Are you going to make me tango?” 

 

“This isn’t really suitable to tango to,” Silver says, leading Flint to the dancing couples. “But I appreciate the challenge, and will certainly blow your mind with a waltz instead.” 

 

Silver takes the leading position, and Flint adjusts his weight so that he can step back, Silver guiding him across the floor. “You’re not half-bad,” he admits, as Silver swings them to the side. It’s a perfect show - Silver throws in just enough mistakes, his foot grazing against Flint’s every couple of steps so that it’s not clear that he’s a trained undercover agent, but not enough of a disaster for them to garner any unwanted attention. “I expected the worst.” 

 

Silver readjusts his arm on Flint’s side, bringing him in as he tells him, “I first learned in a Swiss boarding school. I was a nightmare in most regards, but rather versatile in that I could dance with all the girls and the boys.” 

 

“So you wreaked havoc on some poor teacher who dared teach you your maths, then,” Flint says, and he lets Silver spin him out. “You grew up in Switzerland?” 

 

“Sort of,” Silver says, and he brings Flint in again. Flint doesn’t know whether it’s intentional or not, but they end up a little too close, and Flint can feel the pressure of Silver’s hands lightly guiding him into the steps as they dance. “I grew up a little bit everywhere I’ve been.”

 

“Where have you been?” Flint asks, and Silver slows his movements. “You know, you never talk about your childhood.” 

 

“Yes, well, some things just aren’t easily brought up,” Silver says, and Flint tries to look at him, but Silver looks away. 

 

The music changes to something more upbeat, and Flint glances at Rogers, breaking eye contact. “We should join the line now,” he says, and he can feel Silver’s fingers clench ever so slightly in his jacket.

 

“Sure,” Silver says after another moment, releasing him. “Shall I get you another martini?”

 

“If you want me to throw it in Rogers’s face?” Flint offers. 

 

“I’ll be right back,” Silver says, and Flint watches him go, the crowds parting slightly to let him through as he easily makes his way around the corner.

 

 

•••

 

Another drink later, and Flint and Silver are nearly at the front of the line to greet Rogers.

 

“Shit,” Silver says, low, and Flint turns his head to look at him.

 

“What is it?” 

 

“Rogers’s bodyguard has his phone. He’s going to be a lot harder to pickpocket.” Silver glances over, but then hides the motion as he goes to straighten Flint’s bowtie once more. “He’s on my side. Quick, hand me your glass.” 

 

“Be careful,” Flint says, just as the couple in front of them start to walk away. He puts his arm on the small of Silver’s back to guide them over to where Rogers is standing with his bodyguards. 

 

“The Barlows,” Rogers says, and Flint lets go of Silver for just a moment to shake his hand. “Thank you for coming tonight.”

 

“Yes, well, thank you for inviting us,” Silver says, shaking Rogers’s hand now with an innocent, broad smile. “It’s been _forever_ since James has taken me for a night of dancing, you know!"

 

“Yes, yes,” Rogers says. “Mr. Barlow, I do hope you gave Admiral Hennessey my regards.” 

 

“I did,” Flint says. “Again, thank you for inviting us.” 

 

“The decorations are just _lovely,_ ” Silver says with just a bit too much enthusiasm, waving the not-quite empty glass, and Flint sees as Rogers passes him off for a drunk guest. “Just lovely, and- oops!” 

 

“It’s fine,” Rogers says with a grimace, as he turns towards his bodyguard for a napkin. “If you don’t mind-“

 

“Oh, and who are these lovely gentlemen?” Silver asks, swaying just a bit to get closer to them. “James, take a photo of us!"

 

“My _dear_ ,” Flint says, seeing Rogers’s expression twist as Silver slides in next to him. The bodyguard on the left grabs both of Silver’s shoulders, and even though Flint knows that he could easily break the grip, he steps forward instinctively.

 

Rogers puts a hand on the bodyguard’s wrist. “That’s all right,” he says, and he pushes Silver back to Flint, lightly but firmly. He doesn’t notice Silver’s nimble fingers reaching into the pocket of the bodyguard before he does so, though. “Perhaps your husband would benefit from sitting down for a while.” 

 

Flint plasters an apologetic smile on his face as Silver’s arm loops around his waist, slipping the bug into his pocket. “Of course, my apologies,” he says, turning them both away from Rogers. “Thank you again.” 

 

“Yes, thank you!” Silver calls over Flint’s shoulder, and he even runs his hand low on Flint’s back as he gets a better grip on him. 

 

“We fake being drunk and actually being drunk a lot,” Flint remarks as he steers them away. “I think we’re falling to old tricks.” 

 

Silver makes a sound, and Flint glances over at him. “What?”

 

“You called me dear,” Silver says, teasingly, and then he sees something over Flint’s shoulder. “Aw, damn. You sure that service exit doesn’t have any cameras?” 

 

“Did they catch on?” Flint says grimly, as Silver continues watching behind his shoulder as they walk with renewed urgency. 

 

“Well, I might have not quite put back on the phone case correctly,” Silver says, and Flint would glare at him if he wasn’t so busy steering them through the crowd. “I do believe that bodyguard just sent one of his plainclothes friends, who's heading towards us right now.” 

 

“Shit,” Flint says, and he directs them to the exit.  

 

Past the exit, there’s another door, which they go through. They emerge into a desolate-looking hallway, and Flint lets go of Silver so that they both duck into a doorway, glancing up and down to make sure they’re alone. Flint tries the lock on the nearest door, as Silver keeps an eye on the one they just came from.

 

“Closet, down there,“ Silver says when they hear footsteps. Flint follows him, and then Silver is pulling Flint into the storage closet, slamming the door behind them with a click. 

 

They’re pressed together in the closed space, both of them catching their breath. It’s dim in the closet, only a faint light bulb above their heads as a source of light. Flint can feel Silver breathing from where his chest is pressed up against Silver’s back. They both go silent when they hear footsteps again on the other side of the door, but then after a moment, the footsteps seem to go by them. 

 

Flint feels Silver’s fingers reach back and touch the back of his hand. “Good news and bad news,” he whispers.

 

Flint has to resist rolling his eyes. “Tell me.”

 

“Good news, our friend out there seems to have continued on his way. Bad news, I seem to have nudged the latch when we came in, so we’re locked in here, and I don’t have my kit with me.” 

 

“Jesus Christ,” Flint says. “You’re a terrible agent.” 

 

Silver shifts against him, angrily huffing. “Tell me you have something.”

 

“There’s wire in the hem, and I have a knife.” 

 

“Give me the knife.” Silver’s hand pats along his side before Flint can even respond. “Where might this knife be, exactly?” 

 

“It’s in my thigh holster,” Flint says, and Silver makes a strangled noise, turning around with some difficulty. In the dim light, he can’t see the blue of Silver’s eyes, just the glint of light in his eyes, and curve of his nose from this close. 

 

“Aren’t you supposed to have a gun in there?” Silver hisses. 

 

“It’d be too conspicuous,” Flint bites back, now straining his arm. “You couldn’t find a larger closet for us to hide in?” 

 

“You couldn’t find a larger knife?” 

 

Flint is about to retort when the damned thing falls out of the holster, and down his trousers. “Fuck.”

 

“Don’t tell me you dropped it.” 

 

Flint stays silent.

 

"We’ll just die in here, then.” 

 

“I can’t bend over enough,” Flint mutters. "You’re going to have to get it.” 

 

“If you insist,” Silver says, as he drops to his knees clumsily, his shoulder digging into Flint’s thigh, his face right up against Flint’s hip- and Flint looks up at the dark ceiling, despite every cell in his body screaming at him to look down. Silver snorts. “For a very special agent, you’re rather bashful when it comes to things like this."

 

“I’m not bashful,” Flint means to say, but then Silver is sliding his hand up Flint’s pant leg, deftly plucking at the knife as his fingers curl around Flint’s knee, and Flint briefly forgets how to speak. 

 

Silver rises with the blade between his fingers, then, and Flint settles on glaring at him. “Shall I hold onto this, or are you going to drop it again?” 

 

“Give me the fucking knife,” Flint says.

 

Silver listens through the door as Flint jimmies the lock, his arms coming around Silver to do so. “Quickly,” Silver hisses, his head rearing back onto Flint’s shoulder, and Flint spits out some of his hair before he finally gets the knife into the lock, prying it open. 

 

The hallway is still empty when they both peer out, and they step up with a shared sort of caution.

 

“Right, then,” Silver says, “Let’s get out of here before I strangle you by your bowtie.” 

 

But then there are more footsteps, from different individuals, echoing from far down the hallway. Flint looks around. “The door?“

 

“It’s not going to be enough time,” Silver says, “Hope you’re better at throwing that knife."

 

“Alternatively,” Flint says, and he pockets the knife as Silver’s eyebrow raises. “I hope you don’t mind playing drunk once again,” Flint says, and then he’s snagging the front of Silver’s suit. 

 

With three steps, he pushes him into the wall, and Flint relishes the look of stunned surprise on Silver’s face just before he brings their faces together. “Play along,” he says, putting his thigh between Silver’s legs, and he can see the moment when Silver gets it.

 

Silver throws his head back as Flint mouths along his neck, letting out a loud, theatrical moan. Flint works his hands through Silver’s hair next, messing up the coiffed curls, as Silver grabs onto his shoulders and brings his head back down. 

 

“You bastard,” he thinks he hears Silver mumble, but then Silver’s mouthing along Flint’s jaw instead, and Flint lets out a groan, makes it louder than he’s strictly comfortable with, messing up Silver’s hair even more. 

 

Silver’s hands fist themselves in the back of his jacket, just as the voices reach them. “Hey- hey! Stop that!”

 

Flint pulls his head back, looks at them with what he hopes is the appropriate amount of dazed confusion at the security guards who rounded the corner. “Uh-“

 

“You’re not supposed to be here,” the shorter of the two guards says. “This is a restricted area.” 

 

“Oh my god,” Silver says, letting a laugh bubble out of his chest, as he continues to clutch at Flint. “Oh my _god-_ "

 

“We were just trying to spice things up,” Flint says earnestly. “We’re _so_ sorry-"

 

“Go, now,” the taller guard says, eyeing the two of them, and the shorter one goes by them to open the door back to the gala. 

 

“Um, this is terribly inconvenient, but we’re not exactly suited for polite company,” Silver says with a bit of a self-deprecating laugh, and he folds his hands over his front. Flint clears his throat as he continues, “Would you- could you give us a moment?” 

 

“The door to the parking lot’s there,” the guard says after a long moment, and he leads them to one of the other doors. “Just get out.” 

 

Silver loops his arm around Flint’s neck as they stumble out the exit. “So sorry!” he calls, as Flint pulls them through the door. 

 

They’re alone there, as most of the people are still at the gala. Once they’re out of sight of the door, Silver takes his arm off of Flint’s neck. “I can’t believe that worked,” Silver says. “I can’t believe you came up with that, actually.”

 

“I’m a professional,” Flint says defensively, and Silver laughs.

 

" _Spice things up_ ," Silver says. "Who even are you?" 

 

  
"Shut up," Flint grumbles, and he turns to look at Silver when he hears he's stopped.

 

He’s leaning against an expensive-looking car, and Silver tilts his face up to the light as he loosens his tie. “One of us is going to have to call a taxi,” Silver muses, and his eyelashes are dark against the pale curve of his cheekbone, a tendril of hair curling out in front of his ear, the silk of his draped bow tie standing out against the white of his shirt.

 

“Yeah,” Flint says, and his voice is hoarse to his own ears. He can see Silver looking right back at him. “We- I’ll-"

 

Silver's eyes are dark, pinning him in place, and there’s absolutely no explanation for this time, when Flint surges forward again and catches Silver’s mouth with his, pressing him up against the cool metal of the car. Silver is still for a moment but his recovery is faster this time, as he grabs Flint’s face, brings him closer, running his hands through his hair. Flint lets out another groan, quieter and _real_ and Silver moans right back into his mouth, desperate and needy, and his tongue runs along Flint’s bottom lip as Flint tugs him in by his loose bow tie - 

 

A car honks in the distance, and the faint sound is enough to cause them to break apart. Silver’s still looking at Flint like he never closed his eyes, but now there’s something shifting in his expression, like a deck of cards being shuffled.

 

Flint is stuck.

 

“I don’t-“ he says, breathing heavily, leaning back on another car, as Silver looks at him impassively. “I don’t know why I did that."

 

“Adrenaline,” Silver says, and his mouth is still wet as he gives an easy smile, and Flint can feel his fingers clench, can still feel where he had been grabbing onto Silver just moments ago. “It’s all right, I get it. Nothing like a little bit of snogging after near-death experiences. It’s entirely natural.” He pushes off the car. "Come on, I’ll use that pay phone up there to get us a ride, and we can get out of these ridiculous suits.” 

 

Flint watches him amble off, and he is _fucked._


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i call this "emotions and then everything does, in fact, go south"  
> (next update coming soon!)

In the taxi, they’re both silent the entire way back. Flint glances over at him no fewer than half a dozen times, but Silver’s turned to face the window. As they approach the neighborhood he can see that everything has gone hazy from the thick night fog that has rolled in sometime during their absence, the lights the only thing to cut through the haze, shining dimly down onto the sidewalks, as the houses go by in a blur.

 

Flint can still feel the warmth of Silver’s mouth on his, the grip he had had on Flint’s short hair. He doesn’t dare, but he thinks if he were to lift his fingers, touch his mouth, he might still be able to feel where Silver’s teeth left indents on his lower lip.

 

They arrive back, and he pays the driver while Silver gets out. The cab takes off, and Flint turns to see Silver looking up at the apartment from the driveway.

 

The lights in Thomas and Madi’s apartment are on, visible even through the shutters they’ve pulled down. Someone walks behind one of the windows, and the resulting shadow ripples over the bushes right in front of the window. 

 

Silver is looking at the windows, but Flint sees that his eyes are distant as he comes to stand next to Silver. Together, still in their suits, they stand in front of the house.

 

“I didn’t have a home, really,” Silver says, breaking the silence. Flint keeps his eyes forward. 

 

“Not ever?” 

 

“No family,” Silver says, and he sounds detached. “Strangely enough, this is the closest I think it’s ever been.” 

 

Flint keeps his voice quiet, barely loud enough to hear over the low rumble of a distant car. “Us playing house in the middle of Hampstead?”

 

“Yes,” Silver says. “Is that terrible?” 

 

“It’s a lonely job,” Flint says in reply. “It doesn’t attract the well-adjusted among us.” They’ve had this conversation before, but he can feel something teetering between them, and he doesn’t know what to do.

 

“Is that what we are?” Silver says. “Poorly adjusted? That doesn’t seem to give us much of a chance at happiness.” 

 

From his voice, he thinks Silver is still looking at the house, but when Flint looks over, But Silver is looking right back at him. He’s watching Flint with the same distant look in his eyes.

 

Flint hates it. 

 

“What is it?” Silver asks then.

 

Flint starts, “Thomas’s family, they didn’t approve of our relationship.” Silver’s eyes are heavy on him. "His family was of the old-money aristocratic sort, one that didn’t take too kindly for the eldest son to want to marry a man.” 

 

“So I’ve heard,” Silver says, and Flint pauses. “He mentioned it to me. He said you threw a copy of Dorian Gray at his father’s head.” 

 

“He did?” 

 

"We’ve talked,” Silver says, but then he tilts his head as if to tell Flint to keep on going. 

 

“Well, I didn’t actually hit him, but I suppose the point was made,” Flint says. “Thomas - he sees the best in people. He thought his father, his family, that they could change. We had this dinner, and as you heard, it went badly. Afterwards, I told Thomas that we didn’t need to get married, didn’t need to stoke their rage even more. His family held a lot of sway, and then, Thomas had political aspirations- aspirations that his family could easily destroy. I said that it was just a piece of paper- we loved each other, what more did we need?” 

 

He stops. “But Thomas took it that I didn’t want to marry him, that it would be easier to bend to his family’s wishes to keep our relationship private. It was, but he didn’t want that, and now I think about it, neither did I. But he didn’t bring it up."

 

“I suppose that ended badly,” Silver says, and Flint nods, swallowing. 

 

“It caused one of the worst arguments we’d ever had. What we said to each other- it was awful.” Flint turns to look at the flat’s windows again. “I thought I’d lost him. The worst part of it, I let him leave. I thought to myself, the sort of happiness I had with him- maybe I didn’t deserve that. That there was something in me that would cause even the most shining happiness to eventually tarnish and fade away. If I stayed with him, he couldn’t do what made him happy. But if I let him go -“ He stops. “In retrospect, I was more more of an idiot then.” 

 

“But he married you,” Silver says. “In the end, you had your happy ending, with him.” 

 

“But it’s never just an ending,” Flint says. “You have to work to make sure that they stay that way. And you want to do that work, because that happiness, it’s everything to dream about, to try to have. Thomas told me to leave to Navy for this job, even though it meant seeing me less, because I felt I could make a change doing this, be happy that way. I married Thomas in front of our friends because it made him happy, and he makes me happy. I just needed to put it together."

 

“Why are you telling me this?” Silver’s voice is far quieter now. “Are you saying that I need to work to be happy?” 

 

Flint looks at him. “You and I, we’re built the same way. But we can’t be made so poorly that we are incapable of surviving in such a state. You and I-“ He stops, again, trying to find the words.

 

But then Silver says, “I know." They both continue looking at the window. “I had a similar sort of argument with Madi, once. I told her that we had to retire if there was to be an us.” 

 

“You said that to her?”

 

“It was after Charleston,” Silver says, and Flint carefully does not look at him at this moment. “I told her that this life would end up with one or both of us killed, and I told her to choose between me and the job. It drove a wedge between us, one that I’m not sure will ever entirely heal.” 

 

“It might never,” Flint says bluntly. “That doesn’t mean you give up on it. You love her.” 

 

“ _I haven’t_ -“ Silver cuts off, and he lets out an exhale. “I learned my lesson. I hated you for a long time, because what you said to me-“

 

“I shouldn’t have said it.” He remembers spitting the words out, as Silver’s face had tightened as they struck their mark - so different than the loose, honest expression he had seen on Silver’s face in the neon light of the bar - _You’re a coward, you will never understand what it means to do what needs to be done_ -

 

“It was true,” Silver says. “With you and Madi- I’m not willing to sacrifice what you both would. The blame for the leak was put on me, then, because I was the obvious choice. I looked like the one who would take a bribe. I think at one point, I might have. She knew this, and somehow, she still loved me. And I couldn’t face what was so clear - so I wanted to run. I wanted her to go with me, that I could prove to her that I wasn’t that man. I wanted her to have me no matter what I might have been once, or who I might become.” 

 

“You love her.” Flint looks at him. _You’re no coward_. “Beyond trying to prove something, you would do anything for her.” 

 

“I do. I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to be the sort of man that might one day deserve her.” 

 

They’re both quiet for several minutes, but Flint can read into his silence at this point. He remembers the sticky heat of South Carolina. He remembers holding a gun to Silver’s head, the look that Silver had given him in response- “I never apologized,” Flint says. “You left before I could, and then we were at each other’s throats for most of the time after that. But I should have apologized long ago.” 

 

“You don’t need to,” Silver says. “Anyone would’ve turned to me as the leak.” 

 

“I’m sorry,” Flint says. 

 

He’s trying to find something else to say, when Silver says, “We should go in. The neighbors are going to wonder if we’re peeping on Madi and Thomas.” 

 

“Imagine the scandal,” Flint says, and Silver smiles. “We can burn these horrible bowties.” 

 

“Hey, now, I like them,” Silver says. “They’ve got style.”

 

“ _Style_?”

 

“Yeah, like some old, classic charm. You should know, didn't you grow up with Humphrey Bogart and the like?” 

 

“Oh, fuck off,” Flint says, and they start towards the door. 

 

“Thank you,” Silver says as they go in. “I don’t say that enough, do I?"

 

“Now I _know_ you’re still drunk,” Flint says, but he lets a small smile come onto his face. He stops though, as Silver takes the first step up to their flat. 

 

“I’ll be right up,” he promises, when Silver quirks his eyebrow. “Just going to drop in."

 

“Take your time,” Silver says, and he goes up the stairs. 

 

Flint waits until he can hear the click of their own door opening before he knocks on the downstairs door. 

 

Thomas answers; he’s wearing sweatpants, and he sags visibly in relief when he sees Flint. “You _bastard_ ,” Thomas says, as he pulls Flint in, the door closing behind him as he hugs him tightly. “I’ll get Madi to shoot Silver like she promised, then you for making us _worry_ -“

 

Flint belatedly remembers how Silver had gotten rid of their comms as he hugs Thomas back. “I’m sorry,” he says for the second time that night, now muffled into Thomas’s neck. “We had to do it.” 

 

“Yeah, well, that doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Thomas says, and he pulls back. “What is it?” 

 

“Is- is Madi really going to try to shoot me in here?” Flint peers around him just in case. “Where is she?"

 

“You’re lucky, she went to bed after telling me that you’re both stubborn idiots who are most likely fine,” Thomas says, plucking at Flint’s undone bowtie. “Anne left some time ago. I suspect you’ll have a terribly fierce phone call from your handler tomorrow morning as well.” His voice is light, but there are still lines in his forehead, which Flint goes up on his toes to kiss at the sight of them. 

 

“Will you defend me from her?” Flint asks, his mouth quirking, and Thomas scowls at him, pushing him back down until he’s level on the ground. 

 

“You’re joking, but I’m still seriously considering throwing you out,” he says sternly, and he relaxes slightly only when Flint presses a kiss to his mouth, next. “Are you all right? Silver said he’d look after you.”  

 

“I-“ Flint starts, then stops. His mind works. 

 

“James?” Now Thomas looks worried, his hands sliding down Flint’s arms. “You weren’t shot again, were you?“ He starts to move, as if call Madi, but Flint grabs his hands. 

 

“I’m fine," is what he means to say, but instead, he says, "I’m in love with Silver.” 

 

As he says it, his chest feels tight with the realization, and Flint can feel the words practically dangle in the air between them. But then cold horror curls through his stomach at the same time, especially when he looks at his husband. “Thomas- I-"

 

“Shh,” Thomas says, and he takes a step back. Fear ricochets through him now, even though Thomas is still holding his hands- but he might be frozen. Which, considering his husband just admitted that he loves another man, would be an entirely apt response “You love him?” 

 

Flint feels numb. “I do,” he says. " _Thomas_ -“ 

 

“All right,” Thomas says, and he lifts one of Flint’s hand to press a kiss to the back of it. “I had guessed so, but I really thought I was going to have to coax it out of you.” 

 

Flint just gapes at him. “What?” 

 

“You love me, right?” Thomas asks, and Flint nods fervently, his throat still tight.

 

“You never have to ask _that_ -" 

 

“Would I ever lie to you?” Thomas says then, and Flint shakes his head, slower. “That’s right. I’m glad you’ve realized this, and I’m- I’m glad you love him, truly. I’m happy for you.”

 

“He doesn’t love me back,” Flint says quietly, and a new line appears in Thomas’s forehead. “He doesn’t know, and he won’t ever need to know-“

 

“James McGraw,” Thomas says firmly, and it’s the use of his legal name that surprises Flint. “I’m not going to get involved in that particular conversation, but you need to talk to him about that. I won’t allow you to jeopardize your own happiness.”

 

“What about Madi, though?” Flint says quietly, glancing again back towards the bedroom door. “I’m not going to get in between them-“

 

“She knows,” Thomas says. “I suppose that’s another conversation you must have, but I’ll assure you, my work wife is very much aware of you two idiots.”

“Hey!” Flint says, but when Thomas smiles at him, he forgets his indignation. He starts again, “Are you really are all right with-“ 

 

“If you ask me that again, I’m going to be forced to use one of the new moves Madi taught me on you,” Thomas tells him, and Flint runs a thumb over his chin. “I’m dangerous now.” 

 

Flint squeezes Thomas’s hands once again. “I love you,” he says, and Thomas smiles at him even more, open and fond. “I love you too- so much- you know that, right?” 

 

Understanding blooms on Thomas’s face. “Of course, darling, of course, I know,” he says, and he brings Flint in for a kiss so tender that Flint has to squeeze his eyes shut. 

 

Flint huffs, then, as Thomas wraps his arms around him once more. “What is it?” Thomas asks, feeling him move. 

 

“You both call me that,” he says. “I should have realized sooner.” 

 

“What?”

 

“I have a type,” Flint says, and for whatever reason Thomas actually laughs at that, shaking under his hands. “Hey- that’s not _that funny_ , Thomas, _honestly_ -“ 

 

 

•••

 

 

The apartment is quiet when Flint walks in. There’s a light on in the bedroom, coming from the crack under the door, but he can’t hear anything.

 

Flint takes a deep breath and opens the door. But despite the lamp being on, Silver is lying in bed fast asleep. He’d gotten off his jacket and shirt, but one of his feet is dangling off the end, the shoe still on it- the other one on the ground. 

 

Flint mutters under his breath as he tugs off the man’s other shoe. Silver doesn’t open his eyes, though, even when Flint tugs the blanket over him, props a pillow under his head. Silver always complains when Flint steals his pillow in the middle of the night. 

 

“You’re an idiot, but you’re lucky that that seems to do it for me,” Flint tells him anyway, as Silver’s mouth parts open in a snore. He crawls into bed next to him, and falls asleep, despite the anticipation of the next morning’s conversation bubbling away in his gut. 

 

 

•••

 

He wakes up the next morning with the hairs on the back of his neck standing straight up. 

 

“Dear,” Silver says, and his voice is strange, tense, “You need to wake up _now_.” 

 

Flint opens his eyes, and there’s a gun pointed right in his face. He must make a motion, to perhaps yank it away from its owner, before he feels a second barrel pressing to the back of his head. 

 

He sits up slowly, the guns moving right along with him, and he glances over at Silver first. Silver is perched at the edge of the bed, still in those suit pants, and is looking at Flint with wide eyes. There’s a man behind him, pressing a gun to his head, and another man at the foot of the bed. 

 

Their cover’s been blown, then. Flint wonders if he’ll get shot if he swears. 

 

“Get up,” the man behind Silver orders and Flint narrows his eyes. “If you try anything-“

 

“He’s not going to try anything, he doesn’t know anything,” Silver says quickly. “He’s just-“

 

He’s cut off when the man behind him hits him in the head with the gun, hard- Silver doesn’t cry out, but his eyes squeeze shut, and Flint sees his jaw clench as he catches himself on the bed sheets, sees the white of his knuckles. 

 

He’s going to kill that man particularly slowly. 

 

“I’m going to kill you particularly slowly,” Flint says out loud because he’s in a bit of a sharing mood. Silver makes a sound, and Flint braces himself for the hit before it comes.

 

It doesn’t come because then the door to their bedroom opens, and Woodes Rogers walks in.

 

“Good morning, neighbors,” Rogers says, and he leaves the door open behind him. “Or should I say, agents?” 

 

“You should say sorry for barging in, just to start,” Silver says then, as Flint settles on a glare fixed on the man.  _“_ While we’re at it, why don’t you _get the fuck out of our bedroom_?” 

 

“You know very well I can’t do that without you coming with me,” Rogers says. “I would appreciate it if you give me that professional courtesy of coming quietly.”

 

“Well, my husband’s never come quietly in his life, innuendo intended-“ Silver’s cut off when the man behind him grabs his throat. Flint starts to get up, but the addition of another gun on the back of Silver’s head stops him mid-movement. 

 

“I know how you were planted here, and I know about your operation,” Rogers says calmly, then he stands in front of Flint. “Why don’t you tell me your real name to start?” 

 

Flint lifts his chin defiantly. “My name is James Barlow, and I believe my husband told you to get the fuck out of our bedroom,” he says, and he only sees Rogers nod to the man behind him, before there’s a sharp prick on his neck, and everything goes black.

•••

 

Flint blinks awake, but everything is dark. He can feel the fabric on his face, the cool metal of a seat below his hands that are bound behind his back.

 

“What kind of terrible movie is this,” he mutters. “Bags on our heads?” 

 

“It’s because my baby blues could have convinced them to let us go,” Silver says, and he sounds like he’s somewhere across from Flint. “It’s just us in here.” He must kick something, for there’s a dull clang of his foot hitting metal. “Reminds you of Ontario, doesn’t it?” 

 

Flint feels a violent wave of relief- they might not have gotten to Madi or Thomas if it’s only them in the van. He doesn’t consider any alternative- not now, he can't. “How long have I been out?” 

 

“They seemed to have deemed it important to drug you,” Silver says. “It’s been about an hour.” He sounds relieved, which is a little ridiculous considering they both are tied up in the back of some swaying van. “This- this is not how I was going to plan this morning.” 

 

“If this goes south,” Flint begins and winces when Silver kicks him. “Hey!”

 

“No, you’re not going to finish that sentence, because otherwise I will get out of these zip ties somehow and _kill you myself_ ,” Silver says. “God damn it, don’t say anything _stupid_.”

“Funny, I was going to say the same thing,” Flint retorts, and they can feel the van slow to a stop. The doors to their left open once again, and Flint feels the breeze on his face before they’re pulled out.

 

“John!” he shouts, when he hears footsteps leading away, and he hears Silver making protesting sounds. “ _John_!”

 

Silver swears, and his voice is tense and high-pitched, and then Flint feels another prick on the side of his neck. He feels his head loll forward before he passes out once again. 

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the beginning of the end! thanks for all your kind comments as always ❤︎❤︎

They take him inside. From the echoing, Silver guesses that it’s one of the abandoned warehouses under Rogers’s control. He’s starting to get sick of this particular game, as he strains to hear around him anything from Flint. 

 

“Good afternoon,” a man says to him when they finally take off the bag over his head. Silver looks around as his eyes readjust to the light. It’s just him and this man in this bare room, and his hands are securely tied around the back of a metal chair that’s been- _damn it-_  bolted to the ground. There’s another chair in the corner and a single light high on the ceiling. 

 

“Rather cordial for a kidnapping, isn’t it?” Silver says as the man walks behind him, testing his bound arms. “Hey, come back. I'll tell you the story of how I met my husband. It involved a locked hotel room and a late night receptionist shift, and it’s not even as salacious as it sounds-“

 

The knife that appears at his throat shouldn’t be as much of a surprise, but Silver swallows instinctively as the man leans in behind him. “If you kill me, my husband’s going to be rather irritated at the very least,” Silver tells him. “We have dinner reservations.”

 

The man pulls the knife closer, and Silver winces, drawing his head back, feeling the edge bite at his neck. “You can drop the charade,” the man says, his voice flat. “Tell us about the other agents on your operation.” 

 

Silver says, “My name is John Barlow. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“Your name is John Silver, and your partner is James Flint,” the man says. “Now, you’re going to tell me about the agents on your operation, starting with the name of your handler, or there will be consequences.” 

 

“I’m rather terrible at dealing with pain,” Silver says. “I’ll say anything to make it stop, so you might as well kill me now.” 

 

“Oh, I’m not going to torture you,” the man says. He removes the knife, but it doesn’t bring any comfort to Silver. “You’re wondering where your husband is, aren’t you?"

 

“I don’t know what you want,” Silver says, and he tries for desperation in his voice that’s only too easy to conjure. “Let him go, he wears  _ khaki _ s for fuck’s sake-“

 

“I’ll see if we can get answers out of him instead. One of Hornigold’s men shot him a few weeks ago, right?” the man asks, nearly casually. “I think I’ll pay him a visit. That is, once he wakes up.” 

 

Silver tugs hard at his restraints, all pretense slipping. “Come on- fuck, he’s  _ innocent _ \- don’t do this,  _ please _ -"

 

“Hmm,” the man says, and he picks up the bag, puts it back over Silver’s head before walking away. The door clicks shut. 

 

Silver shouts, feeling the blood rush to his face. He pulls hard against the restraints, feels his joints protest, but no one comes back.  

 

The not knowing, it turns out, is far worse than any torture.

 

•••

 

 

The door swings open two hours later, and Silver’s head snaps up. It’s the man, again, and he’s still alone.

 

“Your partner is rather unwilling as well, it seems,” he says idly, wiping his knife. Silver hopes that it’s a calculated move because it’s  _ working _ . 

 

“If you touch a single hair on his head," Silver informs him, "I’m going to get out of these, and I’m going to kill you."

 

The man scoffs. “I won’t touch him if you would just start talking,” he says, and he pulls the chair until it’s across from Silver- just out of leg range, unfortunately, as Silver judges it. “That shoulder of his is still rather tender, isn’t it?"

 

"Fuck you," Silver tells him.

 

"Tell me what I need to know.” 

 

He breathes in, out. “No.”

 

“A shame,” the man says. “This could’ve gone a lot smoother.” 

 

When he leaves, he doesn’t put the bag back on Silver’s head. He’s not sure if that’s better or worse, as he stares at the bare concrete wall. 

 

  
•••

 

Half an hour later, the door opens. Silver’s vision narrows on the limp body they drag in- until he sees Flint’s chest moving, breathing shallowly, underneath the bag on his head.

 

“Jesus Christ,” Silver says, as they bring Flint to sit right behind him, putting him in the chair. “What did you do to him?” 

 

“Hang tight,” one of the men says snidely, and they leave, taking Flint’s blindfold with them. 

 

“I’m fine,” Flint says once the door closes and they’re alone. Silver lets out a relieved sigh. “Are you hurt?”

 

Silver tries to reach out with his fingers, trying to grasp at Flint from behind, but he can only grasp at air. “ _ James _ .”

 

“Did they hurt you?” Flint demands, and his voice is hoarse like he’s been shouting. Silver cranes his neck, trying to see him, but even he can’t rotate that much. 

 

“No, they were going to hurt  _ you _ ,” Silver says, feeling the zip ties for any weaknesses instead when he can't touch Flint. “They want to know about the operation- God, I  _ hate _ being kidnapped-”

 

“They asked me too,” Flint says quietly. “Did you tell them?”

 

“What-  _ no,  _ I didn’t tell them anything,” Silver snaps. “Who do you think I am?” 

 

“You fucking  _ idiot _ ,” Flint hisses out, and Silver’s fingers still in their movements. “You should have told them!"

 

“ _ What _ ?”

 

“You could’ve gotten out!” Flint’s voice is getting higher and strained, and Silver desperately needs to see the look on his face because he doesn’t know how to handle  _ this. _ “You should’ve just told them-“

 

“They would’ve killed you!”

 

“It doesn’t matter-“

 

“ _ It doesn’t matter _ \- oh, I _cannot_ believe you,” Silver bites, tugging harshly at the zip ties. “You asshole, it matters to me!”

 

“They could’ve put their bets on me breaking, they could’ve killed you in here and I wouldn’t have ever known!” Now Flint is certainly shouting, or as best as he can. “You- oh, I am going to  _ murder _ you-”

 

“I’m not going to betray you,” Silver snaps, and Flint falls silent. “Despite what you might believe about me, I thought we were past this!”

 

“You know that’s not what I think-" Flint stops. "You must know by now!”

 

“Isn’t it, though?” Silver says bitterly. “Since when do you care so much? Really?" 

 

Flint exhales, and it's a pained sound. “That's not true, and you know that,” he says. “But for now, we have about five minutes until they come in to shoot one of us by my estimate. Do you know where we are?” 

 

Silver lets out a slightly hysterical laugh. “We’re still in Canary Wharf. They didn’t think to take us out of the city.”

 

“Well, there’s that at least,” Flint grits out. “Madi and the others must be nearby. Can you move your hands?”

 

“No,” Silver says. “Can you see the door?” 

 

“Double set, iron bar from outside. One security camera, limited audio.” Flint drops his voice. “If you can reach to the back waistband of your suit-“

 

He had forgotten that Flint had been blindfolded or unconscious for most of this time. “I’m not wearing them,” Silver says, then when Flint sighs, he heatedly adds. “I changed into sweatpants before they broke in. At least Rogers’s men didn’t surprise me in the shower.” 

 

“You couldn’t have just left them on?”

 

“You know me, I can’t stand to go more than a day without a shower.”

 

“Oh, I know.”  Flint’s voice is low, and Silver realizes that it’s because he’s fading from consciousness.

 

“Flint!” Silver exclaims, giving up on protocol. “Damn it, keep your eyes open!”

 

“For the love of God,  _ stop talking, _ "  Flint bites out. 

 

“Then stay awake for me,” Silver says,  “You just _had_  to make them give you two doses of whatever the fuck that was-"

 

“I didn’t  make  them,” Flint mutters. “It was hardly a consensual drugging.” He stops when they both hear gunshots in the distance. 

 

“I hope that’s a friendly face,” Silver says, but Flint doesn’t answer. “James!"

 

There's an answering groan. "I hate being drugged," Flint says, but he's still awake, so Silver seizes it. 

 

"Come on, tell me what happened during that mission in Manila," he urges. "You know the one." 

 

“You  know what happened in Manila, and I’m not going to relive it,” Flint says, and he sounds tired but grumpy. Grumpy Flint, Silver will take gladly. “Silver- if we don't - you need to know-”

 

Before he can finish, the doors open again. The men who come around into Silver’s vision are carrying a tarp, and both are armed. 

 

“Agents,” Rogers's voice appears, and he sounds like he’s trying to remain calm. “Our time grows to a close.” 

 

“Thank God,” Flint says. "You're an awful host." 

 

“He’s right, there’s absolutely terrible room service here,” Silver agrees. "I ordered chocolat chaud- what- two hours ago?"

 

“One of you will tell us the identities of your fellow agents, and your death will be quick,” Rogers says, ignoring him, and he takes out a gun, handing it to one of his lackeys. “Now, I’m in a rush, so I’ll thank you to-”

  
“While this feels like a terrible spy movie in progress,” Silver interrupts, “I should remind you that in most situations, it ends badly for you.”

 

“Silver, shut up,” Flint says, shifting in the chair. “I’ll do it, I’ll tell you whatever you need to know.”

 

“Manila,” Silver repeats, and suddenly he’s able to reach out, touch his fingers to the back of Flint’s hand, as the man with the gun steps closer. “That wasn’t an entirely bad time, was it?” 

 

“I’ll never look at Ferris wheels the same way again,” Flint says, and so Silver expects it when Flint tilts all of his weight forward, enough so that Silver is able to add to his momentum and flip the chairs sideways, and he kicks out.

 

  
•••

 

 

The door creaks open, but Silver’s still on the ground, back to back with Flint. “Darling,” he says, “Do we have guests?” 

 

“Mmm,” Flint says, and there’s a crunching sound as he kicks someone. “Not anymore.”

 

“I leave you for two minutes,” Anne Bonny says from somewhere above them, “And this is what I come back to?” 

 

“It’s been considerably more than  _ two minutes _ ,” Silver says, unhooking his legs from around one of the men’s necks. “Flint, did you get Rogers?” 

 

There’s movement from behind him. “Yup,” Flint says. “Did I kill him?”

 

“No,” Anne says, then “Unfortunately.” 

 

Silver feels himself being tugged outright, as Anne manages to bodily hoist the two of them- still in their chairs- back to an upright position. “Can you get us out of these?” 

 

“Sorry, gentlemen, I do not have a knife on me,” Max says, stepping into the room.  “Anne-” She adds something in French, and Silver turns his head, still trying to see Flint. 

 

“We did it,” Flint says, and Silver needs to see him. 

 

“We did,” Silver says, “Flint-” 

 

“Oh, he’s waking up,” Max says then. “Good. This will be much more fun.” 

 

Silver watches as Rogers blinks to consciousness once again, now propped up against the wall.

 

“Hello, fucker,” Anne says, crouching down in front of Rogers, sneering as she prods him in the chest with her gun. “Remember me?” 

 

“If you could shoot him for me right now, I will lie for you in court,” Silver says, and he’s gratified to see Anne’s lips twitch. 

 

“However tempting your offer is,” Max says, coming around so that Silver can see her, “We have explicitly clear orders to bring him in unharmed.”

 

“Tell that bitch there’s no need for that,” Rogers says, his lip curling. “She’s not going to shoot me anyway-“

 

A resounding slap echoes through the room, and Silver has to actively fight the urge to laugh when he sees Max examine her nails, in the aftermath of hitting Rogers squarely in the face. “A shame,” Max says, “Because this bitch just might.” 

 

Flint does, in fact, let out a laugh. Anne snorts. 

 

“Good to see you’re both still alive,” Eleanor says, coming in and walking into Silver’s range of vision. “We cleared out Roger’s offices. All of his people have been accounted for.” 

 

“Forgive me, Eleanor,” Max says, eyeing Rogers as she would a piece of gum on the bottom of her expensive heels. “Would you like to hit him too?” 

 

“Somehow, it was sweeter watching you do it,” Eleanor says, and she and Max share a quick smile. Then she turns to Rogers, and her smile drops. “Hello, ex-husband.” 

 

Rogers spits blood on the ground. 

 

“Can I shoot him now?” Anne asks.

 

“Unfortunately,” Eleanor says, glancing at something above Silver’s head- someone now at the door if his hearing is accurate. “We do, in fact, have a legal process. Another day, love.” 

 

“Ms. Guthrie, you have the authorization to arrest Mr. Rogers,” a new voice addresses- a woman, her voice sure and steady. Silver can feel Flint stop moving from behind him. “Agents.” 

 

“Ma’am,” Max says, and she’s walking back out of Silver’s eyesight. 

 

Eleanor turns her attention back to the man on the ground in front of her. “Ready to spend the rest of your life in a fucking prison?” Eleanor says with a little too much glee, as Rogers glares up at her. 

 

“Eleanor,” the woman reprimands.

 

“You’re right, it’ll probably only be the next twenty-five years,” Eleanor says. “I’ll show up to your funeral with my girlfriends on either side, and I’ll laugh at your rotting face-"

 

“ _ Eleanor _ .”

 

“You can take him away,” Eleanor orders, and Anne picks Rogers up rather roughly with a grunt. “” She casts another look at Silver and Flint, who are still tied to the chairs. “Agents,” she says, then “Director," and then she’s walking out the door. 

 

Silver waits for the zip ties around his wrists to be cut, but no relief comes. From behind him, someone sighs, and Silver can feel as Flint wince when she says, “Agent Flint.”

 

“Can you untie us, maybe?” Silver asks, but neither of them answers him. He starts to wonder who the director could possibly be for Flint to act like this-

 

“Ma’am,” Flint says, sounding formal. “I’d like to apologize for the situation at hand.” 

 

“You utter  _ idiot _ ,” the director says, and it sounds- fond? Annoyed, certainly, but there’s a familiarity there that Silver can’t place. He tries to look around, but can only see the edge of Flint’s head. “I’m gone for a few months, and you get into all this trouble?” 

 

“I’m sorry,” Flint replies.“We didn’t know that our cover had been blown, I didn’t think he would put it together-“ 

 

“You  _ didn’t  _ think, not at all,” the director says, and Silver catches a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye as he turns his head once more in a desperate attempt to see her. “I was worried about Thomas, but in reality, I should be much more concerned with you- James, you were shot  _ again _ -“

 

“Holy shit,” Silver says suddenly, now able to see her that she’s stepped to the side a bit. “You’re the woman in that photograph!”

 

There’s a pause. “James?"

 

“I’m sorry for him, too,” Flint says, and Silver huffs. “Silver, Miranda Barlow. Miranda, John Silver. Can you let us out of here?” 

 

“Not yet,” The director says, and Silver desperately controls his expression as she comes around to peer at him, a calculating look in her eye. “This is the man who let you be shot?” 

 

“ _ Barlow _ ,” Silver repeats, and Miranda quirks a dark eyebrow. “I  knew  you came up with that name somewhere.” 

 

“It used to be Hamilton,” Miranda tells him, and Silver gapes at her. “It was an amicable divorce.” 

 

There’s a pause. Flint says, “Can you just let me out now?” 

 

“Hang on,” Silver says. “Director, I have to say, it’s an honor to meet you. How long have you known our James?” 

 

“At least you’ve got some manners,” Miranda says, something in her expression closer to amusement now, and they both ignore how Flint makes a disbelieving sound. “Agent Silver, I believe we have someone else in common.”

 

“Yeah,” Silver says. “Is Thomas all right?” 

 

“I was told he was dropped off at one of the safe houses,” Miranda says.

 

“He’s out front right now, isn’t he?” Flint says, resigned. 

 

“He made too much of a ruckus to leave him behind,” the woman says wryly, and she uses something to cut their zip ties.  “But that’s not who I meant."

 

Now freed, Silver rubs his wrists. “What do you mean?"

 

“We have three people in common,” Miranda replies, glancing up at the camera in the room. “I’ve heard much about you from my girlfriend."

 

The realization hits him like a train. “You’re shitting me,” Silver says. “You’ve got to be- oh my god."

 

“Silver! She’s the director, show some respect,” Flint says, and he’s bringing his wrists around to rub at them as well. “Miranda, who are you talking about?” 

 

“ _ She’s _ the woman from Dubai,” Silver says faintly. “You- Madi did not mention exactly who _you_ were.” 

 

“Oh,” Flint says. “ _ Oh.  _ Miranda, I’m glad. You and Madi deserve each other.” 

 

“Thank you, James,” Miranda says. “Can you both walk?”

 

“Yes,” Silver says, and then he stills when Flint doesn’t answer. “ _ James,  _ so help me, tell me you can walk-"

 

“Well,” Flint says, probably trying to sound diplomatic, but failing. “It’s just- they kicked my knee in when I disagreed with them on something, so I might need some assistance getting out of here."

 

“I swear to God, you’ve shortened my life,” Silver tells him. “I’m going to die at the age of forty from the pure  _ stress _ of looking after you.”

 

"I like him," Miranda says. 

 

•••

 

 

Miranda sends Silver to get someone to help her gets James out, and he walks outside of the warehouse, still rubbing his wrists and blinking into the influx of daylight. He stops the first police officer he sees, sending him inside with a mere mention of Miranda’s name, and the officer is followed by two paramedics. 

 

There’s a crowd of people gathered outside curious onlookers and various law enforcement. Silver searches the crowds on instinct, and he’s about to go back inside when he hears his name being called. 

 

“ _ John _ ,” Madi says, and she pushes by the police officers and agents until she’s right there, and she wraps her arms around his neck, bringing him in for a desperate kiss. 

 

Silver kisses her right back, relief at seeing her making him warm, breathing her in as they hold onto each other. “I’m all right,” he says into her hair, as she clutches onto him. “Madi, I’m all right-” 

 

When they finally pull apart, Madi does hit him in the arm. ““John Silver, you made me  _ worry _ ,” she accuses. “You must stop that, or I'll- oh, you-” 

 

“It’s that time of year or something,” he tells her, and his smile is broad enough that it hurts his face, as she runs her fingers over his jaw, still so gentle. “I love you.”

 

“I love you too,” Madi says, and Silver kisses her smile, buries his face in her neck. 

 

There’s a hand on his back, then, and Silver lifts his head to see Thomas there. “Where is he?” Thomas says, his face drawn. 

 

“Just inside,” Silver says, trying to be reassuring. “If he comes out on a stretcher, it’s not as bad as it looks-”

 

“Oh,” Thomas says, going pale, but before either of them can say anything, they can hear Flint’s voice before he emerges from the building. 

 

“I’m  _ fine _ ,” Flint is insisting, the two paramedics on either side of him obviously not listening. “It’ll heal quickly, it’s a sprain, don’t you have _ any  _ medical training \- I just need a seat-” 

 

Thomas pushes blindly past them, headed over to Flint. Silver watches as Flint turns to face him, maybe hearing Thomas calling his name. He sees how Flint’s face lights up, the relief on his face clear as Thomas reaches them, grasping at his shirt, not minding the two people on either side of him. 

 

“He pulled a gun on the agent I tried to leave him with,” Madi remarks, her arms still around his torso. “Would’ve shot him if I didn’t take him with me. I was so proud.” 

 

“I’m not surprised,” Silver says, and they watch as Thomas sinks to the ground, taking James with him- both mindful of his knee- and both of them pressing their faces together in a way that’s far more intimate than even them kissing, despite the people walking all around them. Silver can barely breathe at the sight, chuckling a bit at the helpless look the two paramedics exchange over their heads.

 

There’s a polite cough that comes from behind them. Madi turns around first, and Silver sees her face goes from surprised to radiant when she sees Miranda. 

 

“Oh,” Madi breathes, and she pulls Miranda in for a kiss. Silver turns as well, sees Miranda’s arms go around Madi’s waist, the movement starting as hesitant but then becoming firmer as she kisses back. 

 

“Madi,” Miranda murmurs, something raw and vulnerable on her face, and Silver turns away to give them this moment of privacy. He sees Max and Eleanor, huddled together and no doubt plotting something brilliant and nefarious, Anne hovering by and staring down various police officers as they go by. 

 

“Miranda,” Madi says, breaking free from her embrace and calling Silver’s attention back to them. Her cheeks are pink as she says, “This is John.”

  
“Oh, we met,” Miranda says, and Silver smirks when she looks at him. “He is a surprising man.” 

 

“That’s a lot nicer than what I would call myself,” Silver says. “So this- isn’t just a ‘what happens in Dubai’ thing, is it?” 

 

Miranda rolls her eyes, but Madi turns back to Silver. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you about her,” she starts, but Silver ducks down and kisses the corner of her mouth, before she can go on. 

  
  
“She makes you happy?” he asks, and Madi nods. “You deserve an infinite number of people to love and be loved by, even if she  _ is _ the terrifying head of our shadowy organization.”

 

“I’ll let that slide because I appreciate the sentiment,” Miranda says, as Madi hugs him again. “James and Thomas are going to the hospital to get his leg checked out.”

 

Silver turns, just in time to see Flint arguing with a paramedic as he’s lifted into the back of an ambulance. Thomas is holding his hand as he climbs in next to him, saying something to the ambulance driver. 

 

“I-” Silver starts, then he stops. 

 

“I’ll go with Miranda,” Madi says, gracefully stepping in for him. “You’ll take my car, and I’ll see you tonight.” 

 

“Yeah,” Silver says, blinking. “Yeah.”

 

They leave him, then, and he watches as the ambulance pulls out, heading for the hospital before he snaps back to it and goes to find Madi's car. 

 

•••

 

He  _ hates _ hospitals, and it’s not just because of the suffering that seems to steep in the walls. There’s something about the sterile smell that calls upon memories he’d rather push away. Even as he seeks out Flint’s room number- he’s listed under the name Fingal O'Flahertie, of course- Silver’s skin crawls, and his foot taps against the ground as he waits for the receptionist.

 

That goes away, though, when he sees Thomas leave one of the hospital rooms as he emerges from the elevator. Thomas catches his eye, and relief flits across his face when he sees it's Silver. 

 

“He’s been asking for you,” Thomas tells him. “They’re keeping him overnight just in case whatever drugs have side effects.”

 

Silver exhales. “All right,” he says. “And his knee?”

 

“Just a mild sprain,” Thomas says. “He terrified that poor paramedic, but I think he just needs some rest.” 

 

“That would do it,” Silver says, and he pulls them to the side of the hallway when a nurse rushes by them. “Can I see him?”

 

Thomas looks at him rather bemusedly. “Obviously. Silver- I have you to thank."

 

“Absolutely not,” Silver says. 

 

“You got him out of there," Thomas says. "For that- I can't express my gratitude. He told me that there was a moment-"

 

“I got him into that situation in the first place,” Silver says. “I didn’t hear Rogers’s men come in, and he got himself out just as much."

 

“Still,” Thomas says, and his hands are warm around Silver’s, “Thank you. You might have just saved him.”

 

Silver smiles, but his face feels strained. “Hamilton, now I know you’ve been tapping at someone’s morphine,” he quips, and Thomas just squeezes his hands before letting him go. 

 

“Take your time,” he says, and Silver turns to go into the room. 

 

Flint’s propped up on pillows, IV in his arm, and his eyes are at half-mast before he hears Silver come in. 

 

“Before you make an old man joke,” Flint says, his eyes surprisingly green in this light, “I’d like to remind you that this time, I am not in a bathtub, and can certainly get up to strangle you.” 

 

“Ha ha,” Silver says, leaning in the doorway. “They didn’t tie you to the bed after all?”

 

“The fucking sprain,” Flint says, shifting in the bed. “I’ve walked- I’ve  _ run, _ many miles, on much worse. Thomas insisted on them keeping me overnight, but really, I’m fine.”

 

“You kept a bullet wound to yourself once, so forgive me if you’ve lost some credibility,” Silver says, and he comes to the side of the bed. “They give you any excellent medication?”

  
  
“Sadly, very little,” Flint says. “I’ll have to deal with you sober. Mostly.” 

 

“They’re leaving you with your funny bone, then,” Silver says, letting himself touch the back of James’s hand. “Well, I have to say, that was rather a climactic end to this mission.”

  
“It wasn’t too bad, was it,” Flint says, and he gives Silver a slow smile, the kind that makes something churn inside Silver, a moth helplessly drawn to the light. “Shall we do this again?”   
  


“Speak for yourself,” Silver says. “I want a nice dinner and the ability to sleep for about forty hours. But I’m going to have to work out some living arrangements with my girlfriend and her girlfriend, so I think I have my work cut out for me for now." 

 

He moves, but Flint catches his arm before he can go. “Silver." Silver turns to him, feels his fingers tighten slightly on his forearm. “We work well together.”

 

“Yeah,” Silver says, swallowing and hiding it with a smile. “It’s what partners do, isn’t it?”

 

“Partners,” Flint repeats, and after a moment, his face relaxes as he leans back into the hospital pillows, the machines around him beeping. “I’m glad you’re mine, then. Thomas says… he says...”

 

“Get some sleep, old man,” Silver says softly, and he watches as Flint’s eyes slip closed. He bites the inside of his mouth hard, steeling himself, and then he slips out of the room. 

 

He sneaks behind Thomas, who’s talking to the doctor about anything he might have to watch out for in the next few days, and takes the stairs down. A nurse gives him a worried look when he goes by, but he pushes on, blindly escaping the bright lights until he’s out in the evening air, gasping for a moment as he collects himself. 

 

When he makes it to the parking lot, Miranda’s waiting for him. There’s a cryptic look in her eye as she looks him up and down. “Did you find him?”

 

“He’s going to be fine,” Silver says. “Director- I have a favor to ask.”

 

  
•••

 

Flint’s released from the hospital early the next morning. It's a cloudy morning, and when he squints up at the sky, he wonders if it's going to rain, later.

 

Madi pulls up in her car, and Thomas helps him into the front seat, climbing into the back himself.

 

  
“I’m glad to see you’re all right,” Madi says, and there’s something strange in her eyes, but Flint doesn’t pay too much mind to it. 

 

“Thank you for picking us up,” he says. “If you don’t mind, could we make a stop on the way back?”

 

Madi acquiesces, and before long, they pull up to the flat in Hampstead. They park outside after Madi does a quick scan of their surroundings. It’s early enough so that they’re the only ones moving at this time, as Madi shuts off the car. 

 

It’s been less than two days since he’s been there, but somehow, something feels missing. 

 

“We can’t go in,” Madi says, after a long moment. “We technically shouldn’t even be here.”

 

“I know,” Flint replies, staring up at the dark windows. “I wanted to see it one more time. Something- I don’t know.” He exhales, watches his breath fog the glass. 

 

“Silver didn’t want to come with you this morning?” Thomas asks, looking out the window. 

 

“Well, his flight was going to leave this morning, so he couldn’t make it,” Madi says, and she coolly raises an eyebrow when Flint whips his head back to her. 

 

  
“What flight?” Flint demands.

 

“He didn’t tell you?” Madi says, and she searches his face. “You really didn’t know.” 

 

“Didn’t know  _ what _ ,” Flint asks, his heart thudding in his chest, as understanding blooms on her face, even when he snaps, “Where is he going _?” _

 

  
“Miranda had Eleanor assign him to a long-term op she needed someone for,” Madi say, and Flint hears Thomas suck in a breath. “Silver was looking for a mission, and he requested one that would take a long time, last night. You truly did not know?”   
  


 

“ _ Of course not _ ,” Flint says, “I- I need to go to the airport.”

 

“You really love him, don’t you?” Madi says quietly, and Flint doesn’t know what to say, but he’s sure that everything is open on his face right now. “Good,” she says, at whatever she sees. "I'm glad I was right about you." 

 

“The airport,” Thomas says, as Flint feels frozen in his seat. “Can we still make it in time?”   
  


Madi’s already turning back on the car. “Luckily for you,” she says, looking at the back window as she expertly spins the car around, “I’m an excellent driver.” 


	10. Chapter 10

In a shriek of rubber on pavement, the car slides right to the front of the airport. Madi puts the car into park, ignoring the dirty looks she’s getting from the other drivers she just peeled by.

 

Flint unhinges his fingers from where they were holding onto his seat. “All right,” he says. “I’m going to- in there, he’s going to be- I’m going in-”

 

“My love, maybe save your words for in the airport?” Thomas suggests, and Flint sends him only a half-hearted glare through the rear window. “Take the cane.”

 

“I don’t need the cane,” Flint starts, opening the door, but then he tries to put his full weight on his leg and finds that he will, in fact, take the cane. Thomas makes a sympathetic noise. 

 

“Not a word," Flint grits out, as he accepts the cane from Thomas. 

 

“My lips are sealed,” Thomas says. “Be safe, love."

 

“He’s under an alias,” Madi says through the window, as Flint limps around the car. “He’s heading to Algiers.”

 

“I’ll find him,” Flint says distractedly, glancing at the departures board out front. “I will.”

 

The airport is relatively empty, so it helps some as he makes his way through. He eyes the security line and is already bemoaning the time that it will take to get through - when he remembers just who he is.

 

The security is laughable, as Flint cuts around the corner, swiftly breaking a small window and reaching through to open the door a small break room door. With his knee, it’s more than a little painful when he hoists himself into the air vent, still dragging the cane with him, but he is nothing if not adaptable and determined.

 

•••

 

 

In the parking garage, Madi tries to catch Thomas's eye in the rear view window. He had been staring out the side window, and while she does appreciate his ability to just sit in comfortable silence with her, she feels the need to say something.

 

(Perhaps she's been spending too much time with John.)

 

"If you think I'm having second thoughts on sending my husband to declare his love for another man in a way that will hopefully get them both on the same page emotionally, I'll assure you, there are none," Thomas says evenly, without looking at her. 

 

Madi says, "I was thinking more along the lines of, I'll bet you a tenner that one of them gets arrested." 

 

"That's a bet I'm not going to bother to take," Thomas says, and he meets her eye. "It's whether or not they call you or me to come pick them up." 

 

"Professor Hamilton, you are on," Madi says. "You're my favorite work husband."

 

 

••• 

 

The next ten minutes are rather undignified as Flint slides through the vent - the things he’ll do for love, Thomas would say, as Flint coughs on the dust that has accumulated on the ceiling, making sure he's not going to end up falling through some ceiling tile. 

 

He lands at the end of the air vent, muffling a curse when his knee protests under his weight. He kicks out the metal grate at the end with his good leg, and manages to emerge out onto the tarmac relatively unscathed.

 

There’s a lone plane by the far end that must be the one that Silver is getting on - the passengers are already boarding. He really does not want to engage in a hostile flight attendant this early in the morning, so as Flint gets closer to the line, he’s already scanning the heads of the people in line to find him.

 

He sees Silver from a distance, and it’s like when he first saw him all over again. Silver’s wearing dark sunglasses even though it’s overcast, muted colors and effectively blending into the crowd. His hair is tied close to the nape of his neck, and out of everything- he's holding a guitar case.

 

With a pang, Flint realizes he misses the neon tropical-print shirts. That, he knows, must be love blinding him.

 

He doesn’t realize he’s staring until Silver glances up, and around the sunglasses, Flint can see his face slacken. Then Silver’s pushing through the line until he’s right there in front of them, the temporary metal barrier the only thing between them, his hands dangling at his sides. Flint finds that he can't move, either. 

 

“I’m not supposed to be here,” Flint says, and Silver slowly pushes the sunglasses to the top of his hair, blinking. 

 

“Hello,” Silver says slowly, then “You know that this is highly illegal, right?”

 

"Did you just leave your guitar?" Flint answers instead.

 

"It's full of automatic weapon pieces," Silver says. He glances down to the cane that Flint’s gripping. “ _Your knee_ -”

 

“I figured I have about three minutes before someone arrests me,” Flint says, glancing around them. “You’re leaving?”

 

Silver clears his throat. “Don’t worry, I signed the divorce paperwork before I left. Congratulations, Mr. Barlow- er, Flint- you are no longer a bigamist, sketchy spy organization laws aside. It's been fun, dear, and all that."

 

“It’s McGraw, technically,” Flint says, then he repeats, “You were just going to leave?”

 

“Yeah, well, the world to save and all of that,” Silver says, and something shifts over his face even as he makes a dismissive hand gesture. “You know how it is.”

 

But Silver- Silver is visible to him now, and Flint knows exactly what he sees. Hope begins to rise in his chest like a sun cresting over the mountains, and he can’t help the smile that comes onto his face.

 

“What?” Silver says, looking irritated. "Shouldn't you be in the hospital or something?"

 

“Silver,” Flint says.

 

“You know, you can’t do this,” Silver snaps. “You can’t just show up and- what, to say goodbye? I can’t do this, no matter what you say. You need to go-”

 

“Silver,” Flint says again. “What the fuck did you think I said?”

 

“You’re going to retire,” Silver says bitterly. Above them, it starts to rain, and Flint can see Silver’s knuckles clenching into fists at his sides. “You’re going to go off to a nice, long beach vacation with Thomas, and you’re going to let me go on this plane, forget about-“

 

“Retire?” Flint says. “When exactly did I say that I was going to retire?”

 

The smile that Silver gives him is not a happy one. “You’re transparent to me now,” he says. ”Don’t you see it? This life- you have something outside of it. It might not have occurred to you yet, but you can get out now, you have no reason to stay. Maybe you'll do the occasional side mission, and we'll snipe at each other in elevators like before- but you'll be happy, all right?”

 

“You could have that,” Flint tells him. “You could.”

 

“Madi and Miranda have each other now,” Silver says. “She and I have been going on for a while now, sure, and we’ll stay like that- it just works, and I don't need you to tell me that. Now, you need to go-”

 

“I love you,” Flint says, and that stops Silver mid-turn. “I’ve been in love with you for quite a while now, so I’d appreciate you not boarding that plane just yet.”

 

Silver stares at him. His eyes are startling blue compared to the faded gray tones of everything around them, but even over the low roar of the airplane engine, Flint can’t focus on anything else, as he grips onto the metal barrier between them.

 

“I don’t expect anything, but- you should know. If-” and Flint stops, breathes in, out, “If you’re just taking this mission to get out of here and away from me-“ he’s watching Silver for any kind of reaction- but Silver is so still, his eyes wide and fixed on Flint’s face, and he loses his train of thought. “Silver," Flint breathes out. "You have to know."

 

“For how long?” Silver asks, and he's holding onto the barrier too, now, even closer to him. “How long?”

 

“Does it matter?” Flint says. “Since Charleston. Since we were first assigned to that case. Since you kissed me, or maybe since I woke up and realize that somewhere along the line, I love you.”

 

Silver is silent, and Flint says, “Is that- is that a good reason?”

 

“Oh, fuck the mission,” Silver says firmly, and he’s hopping over the barrier, nearly sliding off in the process from the surface slick with rain. Flint barely has the time to brace himself before he has an armful of Silver, catching him unsteadily. Even though his leg screams at him, Silver is right there, and when he kisses him, Flint finds he has better things to focus on.

 

Unlike any of the times before, this kiss feels like coming home - there are no interruptions, no secrecy, just Silver right there with him, clutching onto him like Flint’s the one leaving. Flint kisses back, tastes the cool rain drops that are landing on both them as he holds Silver’s face, and he can feel Silver’s mouth curl under his as he laughs in delight, as Flint feels his stubble underneath his fingertips, smells the tar from the pavement and _Silver's kissing him_ -

 

“It’s you,” Silver says, pulling back just enough so that Flint can get some air back into his lungs, and Silver’s broad palms are still on either side of his face, stroking his cheeks, “It’s been you- God, this is so much better than the time in the bathtub-“ and Flint kisses him again, having found a much better way to stop Silver from saying such nonsensical things. 

 

Silver tilts his head so that their noses stop being so quite squashed together, and even though they’ve kissed before - right now Silver keeps on making strange, disbelieving sounds into his mouth, and Flint tastes stale coffee and gum - there’s something perfect about this, in this moment. Flint breathes him in, hands tightening around him like he never has to let him go, and Silver's fingers tangle in his hair.

 

It's perfect, right up until they’re tackled to the ground by a security team. That, in hindsight, might make it one of their worst first kisses, even though Silver’s still grabbing his shirt, keeping him close as his sunglasses fly off his head and skitter out onto the pavement.

 

“Ow,” Flint says, as they’re pressed to the ground, carefully twisting so that his weight doesn’t end up on his leg.

 

“You love me,” Silver says, looking dazed with his hair everywhere- equal parts from Flint’s hands and being knocked to the ground- and Flint grimaces when his head is pressed to the damp ground, his arms pulled over his head and away from Silver. “Hey, careful with that man, he loves me!"

 

“Unfortunately,” Flint says, as he feels someone snap handcuffs around his wrists, “I really do.”

 

From this new angle on the ground, he can see Silver eyeball the officer behind him, then look at Flint questioningly, but he shakes his head. They could fight them off, but Flint prefers love confessions that don’t end in them dodging bullets. Call him an old romantic.

 

“He needs that cane,” Silver tells the officers as they’re hauled upright. “His knee is injured-”

 

“Oh my god, between you and Thomas,” Flint mutters, and Silver laughs again, bright and loud, even as the rain starts coming down heavier and heavier, soaking them all, and now his hair is wild and falling out of its bun.

 

“Officer, I am in love with this man, and he loves me!” Silver proclaims when they’re brought into the holding cells, dripping all over the ground. “We’re in love!”

 

“Great,” the woman says flatly. Flint rolls his eyes.

 

“You do realize we’ve been detained, right?” But he can't help the smile that comes on his face, as Silver turns to look at him through the bars.

 

“Darling, I couldn’t care less,” Silver says. "Although, did you happen to have a plan for after this?”

 

“Can I have my phone call?” Flint asks the officer.

 

 

•••

 

Madi shows up at the holding cells to bail them out. Her eyes are brimming with amusement as she nods to the officer who comes in with her. “I take it that your confession worked out?” she asks Flint, as the officer goes to unlock the door to his cell.

 

“He just suggested that we make out through the bars,” Flint says, jerking his head back towards Silver, who’s in the next cell, “So no, it didn’t quite work out.”

 

“Ignore him, we’re disgustingly happy right now,” Silver says, standing to get closer to her. “Madi, am I glad to see your lovely face once again!”

 

“Don’t kiss _me_ through those bars,” Madi says, stepping away. Flint steps out of the cell and accepts his cane from her.

 

“Is this all right?” Flint asks, low, as the officer goes to unlock Silver.

 

“I’m happy for you,” Madi tells him. “I meant every word.”

 

She puts an arm around him, and they both watch as Silver tries to engage the officer in a conversation before he too is let out. Flint and Madi drag him out when Silver starts telling people in the station exactly how lucky he is, to be going home with these two gorgeous individuals, because really, sometimes he needs to be stopped.

 

Flint pretends he doesn’t see just how smug Silver looks when he loops his arms around both Madi and Flint’s waists as they make their way out of the station, and Silver leans right into Flint's side as they walk into the rain.

 

Thomas is waiting outside, leaning against the car underneath an umbrella, which he lets Flint go underneath as Madi gets in the car- and he inexplicably hands her money, which Flint isn't going to read into. 

 

“Mr. Silver,” Thomas greets. “I believe this is where I tell you to be careful with my husband.”

 

“Right, yeah, ditto,” Silver says, squinting as the rain drips down his face. “If he’s your real husband, what am I to you?”

 

“Uh,” Flint says eloquently.

 

“Boyfriend,” Silver says. “No, wait- paramour? Lover? Beloved?”

 

" _Beloved,"_ Thomas repeats. "James, I'm questioning your taste just a bit, my love." 

 

“Partner,” Madi says from inside the car. “He’s your partner.”

 

“That’s a lot better,” Silver admits.

 

“I’ll just take a cab home, thanks,” Flint says.

 

 

•••

 

 

From the window, just above from a towering stack of books - and really, Silver should have asked just how many books Flint and Thomas owned _before_ technically moving in with them - the sun peeks in, lighting up the room and making Flint’s hair shine red-gold.

 

“Come on, you can tell me,” Silver says, and he stretches, flexing his toes against Flint’s bare calf. “Was it when I cut the lawn without a shirt for the first time?”

 

“No.”

 

“Was it when we sparred in the apartment? I knew that wasn’t just a knife in your trousers-”

 

“ _No_ \- well, yes, but not then.”

 

“Are you two decent?” Thomas calls through the door then.

 

“I’ve got his cock in my mouth!” Silver calls back.

 

“Now you never will again,” Flint grumbles. "Come in, Thomas." 

 

“I regret to inform you that your honeymoon’s over,” Thomas says, striding in. “Would you look at that, my husband’s in bed with another man. The scandal, I could shriek." 

 

“You know you like it,” Silver says, shifting slightly as Thomas leans down to kiss Flint quickly. “What’s the rush?”

 

“Miranda just texted me, we’re going out to brunch,” Thomas says, turning to the dresser. "She told me to drive the two of you, since Madi has informed us that  _you,_ Mr. Silver, are a terrible driver, and James obviously isn't going to be driving anywhere for a while." 

 

“Brunch,” Silver repeats, wrinkling his nose. “ ‘Hello, yes, we’d like a table for one spy director, three trained secret agents, and a classics professor’? Oh, and 'we’re all sleeping together, so we can all fit in one booth'.”

 

“Well, I was just going to ask for a table for five, but that does have a ring to it,” Thomas muses, opening a drawer. “James, have you seen my blue tie?”

 

“In the back of that one,” James says. “Both of you, please don’t bring up any sexual arrangements to the waiter.”

 

“Why are you wearing a tie to brunch?” Silver asks instead, rolling onto his stomach. "Posh house, by the way." 

 

“It’s to make a good impression,” Thomas says. "I'm  _respectable_."

 

"That’s not going to cover up that bite mark, you know," Silver tells him. 

 

He’s pretty sure Thomas got that particular mark during the hour Silver had not been attached to Flint for the past day- when Silver had taken a quick nap because Flint’s stamina and stubbornness definitely carried over to the bedroom. The way that Flint inhales ever so slightly, he must be thinking about it, and Silver smiles into the curve of Flint's shoulder. 

 

"I, unlike you, know how to be  _subtle_ ," Thomas throws back. "Damn- are you sure it was in this drawer?" 

 

“I need to brush my teeth,” Flint says instead, throwing back the sheets and striding to the bathroom. Both Thomas and Silver take a moment to appreciate the view, before turning to face each other. Thomas raises his eyebrow.

 

“I’d like to think that you were being honest in saying you weren’t a jealous man,” Silver says. "Is that still the case?"

 

“I’m always honest,” Thomas says. “Well - most of the time. Once I told James that I didn’t mind if he shaved off his beard.” 

 

“I heard that!” Flint calls through the bathroom door. Thomas smiles to himself, finally finding his tie and doing it up. 

 

Silver drops his voice. “But this-” and Thomas glances over at him, “I mean, in practice versus theory- you can’t be entirely all right with not sharing a bed with him every night.”

 

“You’re absolutely right. I was going to wait a few days at least, but there is a way to have us all fit together that I'll tell you all about,” Thomas says, and he leans over to whisper in Silver’s ear, “For instance, there was a time we found an attractive young man during our second honeymoon in Paris."

 

"Oh my god," Silver says.

 

"It’s quite a vision, you know, to see James so overwhelmed between two sets of hands, all _desperate_ and _aching_ -”

 

“What did you say to him?” Flint asks, coming back in a moment later. Silver’s throat is working helplessly. “Thomas? Silver?”

 

“Nothing that can’t be discussed later,” Thomas says, and when he reaches out under the guise of straightening the blanket, his hand grazes high over the back of Silver’s thigh. It takes all of Silver’s self-control not to let out a groan. “Just admiring what a beautiful day it is."

 

Someone’s going to have to tell Madi how Silver died of a heart attack. She’ll probably laugh.

 

Flint snorts, and he puts a hand on Silver’s lower back so that he can lean over him, kissing Thomas once again. “I have excellent hearing, you know,” Flint informs him, and Silver shivers even though he’s still covered in sweat. “You’re both _insatiable_. I've made a terrible mistake." 

 

“Get dressed, love,” Thomas says breezily, getting up again. Flint waits until he’s out of the room to raise an eyebrow at Silver.

 

“Well,” Silver says, “There’s breakfast to be getting, isn’t there?”

 

"I have something," Flint says abruptly, and he bends over to the side table. Silver waits as he rummages around, and then Flint turns back with two rings in his palms. Silver blinks.

 

“Is it too much?” Flint asks, uncharacteristically hesitant. 

 

“I’ve been playing house with you for too long to be shy now, if that’s what you’re asking,” Silver says, rolling right back onto his back and holding out his hand. "I thought the agency would have wanted them back."

 

"They did," Flint says. "I told them they were lost when we got kidnapped."

 

"You're committing a small crime just for me," Silver says, and the ring feels right when it slides on his finger, as Flint puts his on top of his other wedding band. “Can I convince you to stay in bed for just a few minutes longer?”

 

“We have places to be,” Flint says, even as Silver sits up to pull him in. “People are waiting!"

 

“I’m sure they’ll understand,” Silver says, and then he's tugging Flint back with him. "We have some time to catch up-" he gasps when Flint moves down, kissing down his torso, avoiding the most tender bruises from the past few days. “Oh, fuck-”

 

“This is the exact _opposite_ of getting dressed,” Thomas says from the doorway, but he’s watching as Flint slides off the end of the bed, drops to his knees. “James, I think he’s a terrible influence on you."

 

“We’re going to be so late,” Flint bemoans, even as he ducks his head lower, his teeth dragging over Silver's hip.

 

“What was that about some discussion?” Silver asks, already tense with anticipation, as Thomas comes back over to them. “Hamilton, did you have something to say?” 

 

“Did he tell you the rings were my idea?” Thomas asks, coming to sit behind Silver, and Silver watches how his ring glints in the sunlight as he reaches down to thread his hand in Flint’s hair, his other hand coming across Silver’s abdomen. Flint moans, and Silver throws his head back onto Thomas’s shoulder. "I'm a very intelligent man, you know." 

 

“Can’t be- living in sin- after all, ha,” Silver says, and when Flint hits him on his thigh, he probably intends it to have the opposite reaction of making him thrust up into his mouth. Thomas kisses the top of Silver’s shoulder, then seems to change his mind, biting down. Silver shudders. “Oh, Hamilton, this is going to be _fun_."

 

They are, in fact, late to brunch.  It’s only because Miranda and Madi show up even later to the diner that Flint doesn’t make a fuss about it, as he settles for glaring at both of them from across the laminated table top. 

 

They order, and then Miranda and Thomas start a heated discussion over some political development - evidently, a recurring debate - as Madi and Flint have a quiet conversation over the various merits of different body armor types. 

 

Silver watches them all, and he smiles over the rim of his mug.  

  

•••

 

  

“I think it was when you cut holes in that poor blanket,” Flint says one day, and Silver sets down the gun he's cleaning. “I knew I loved you because there was no way I couldn’t if I could stand being around someone who doesn’t know what a curtain rod is.”

 

“Oh, fuck off,” Silver tells him, as he props his feet in Flint's lap once again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> akjdskjs thanks for sticking with this to the end! as always, all your comments have made me deeply happy ❤︎


End file.
